


The Way Back Home—To You

by Arenoptara



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Despair, F/M, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Star Trek References, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:45:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 110,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1493755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arenoptara/pseuds/Arenoptara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 2014, the unimaginable happens. The entire globe is thrown into a devastating apocalypse, losing its people to a deadly disease that turns you into an undead creature of horror. 11-year-old Armin Arlert's world is shattered and he must survive along with his two friends Mikasa Ackerman and Eren Jaeger. But in an apocalypse, things don't tend to go your way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Structure jumps through time. Every section has the date. I don't usually do this kind of structure, but I felt like it was right for this piece.

October 2, 2031

The air was unusually chilly that evening, and the metal of his gun even colder against his cheek. Armin breathed out in long, silent breaths, watching his breath form a cloud in the autumn air. The barrel of his rifle poked between the branches of a half-bare branch. He made the smallest of changes in position, taking into account the wind and distance to his target. Lightly, his finger tapped against the trigger and then slipped out of the hole, resting on the outside of the trigger guard.

The forest crunched behind him, the smallest of noises. Only one person had such light footfalls. Jean crouched down beside Armin, rifle slung over his shoulder, resting against the trunk of the tree. His beanie covered his ears, keeping them warm. If only Armin hadn't lost his. Hopefully they would get this mission over with and find a market to trade in Denver. Jean wanted to get some fingered gloves. Right now the fabric ended at the first knuckle, leaving half of his fingers exposed to the harsh air. They raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes, taking in the targets down the hill about three hundred meters away. He put them down, letting his neck take the weight, and murmured, “Are you okay, Armin?”

Armin nodded his head once, eye still staring through the scope, keeping the cross-hairs on a zombie at all times. Right now they were rather inactive, just pacing back and forth in a one meter area. He switched from a teen to a tall black-haired woman, some disgusting green substance oozing from her chapped, cut mouth. Something about her seemed familiar.

More footsteps sounded behind them, and Marco came up, rifle in hand. He stopped right beside Jean, and rested the butt of his rifle into the bark-littered ground, fingers wrapped around the barrel. He had nice thick gloves, and when he saw Jean's red fingers, he said, “Want this?” He started pulling a glove off, but Jean pushed his hand away, shaking his head vigorously.

“I'll get some in Denver,” Jean said. He gave Marco a long look. “There's more important things to worry about right now. How's Annie doing? Okay?”

At Annie's name, Armin's eyesight faltered, blurring, and his gun got off point. He had to refocus and adjust the gun back to the correct specifications. This time he rested his cross-hairs on a short porky fellow that may have been bald, but it was hard to tell with such scabbed, peeled, and diseased skin blanketing his head.

If the others noticed Armin's discomfort, they made no acknowledgment of it. “Yeah,” Marco breathed. “Yeah, I think she's okay. I asked her but she didn't say anything. Like usual.” His eyes swiveled to Armin, round and awkward. He looked like he wanted to say something to Armin, but nothing came out.

Jean put his hand on Marco's shoulder. “And are you okay?”

“Uh huh,” Marco said, putting his free hand over Jean's. He shifted his weight to his left foot more. “I'm going to go get in position. Sasha and Connie are now too, finally.” For a long moment, he just stared down towards the cabin and shed, to the zombies roaming in the yard. One of them was stuck on the chicken wire fence, trying to take a step forward, but always being pulled back by the metal that had snagged its clothes. It didn't have the energy to rip it away. Not yet, anyway. As soon as Eren, Mikasa, Ymir, and Annie appeared, all hell would break loose, and this beautiful silence that had descended over the forest would shatter.

“There's some clouds moving in. We won't have the moonlight for very long,” Marco said. His fingers interlocked with Jean's, maybe in an attempt to keep them warm without Jean realizing that's what he was trying to do. “They--” he meant Eren, Mikasa, Annie, and Ymir “--are four of the best. They'll get the others out of that cabin.”

“With you on sniper duty, I don't worry as much.” Jean leaned forward, a knee sticking into the ground, to lightly kiss Marco on the lips. “Get into position.”

Marco nodded once, reclaimed his rifle, and headed to his position about five hundred yards away from Armin. All of them—Marco, Reiner, Berthold, Sasha, Connie, Armin, Jean, and Krista were all located in a three hundred yard radius around the yard, weapons pointed at the throng of zombies—fifty-seven in total. When Eren gave the signal, they'd fire, wounding as many as they could so the four on the infiltration team could cut off their heads, ending them for good, and then break in to the save the others wounded and ammo-less in the cabin. It was Armin's plan, and if anything went wrong, he'd blame himself.

“Armin,” Jean said near his ear. When Armin didn't look over, he said his name again.

Armin turned his blue eyes onto Jean, taking in the cold determination settling in his hazel ones. There was something else in there too, not resignation, but the understanding that they could lose the entire infiltration team and the others in the cabin, maybe even the snipers. The mission could end up many different ways. But they were all betting on their team's skills, and also on Armin's expertise in planning these things. No one was going to give up without the greatest fight they could fight. And no one was going to let the mission fail for sentiment or personal reasons. Like if someone got bit.

“How long have we known each other, huh?” Jean asked.

“I don't see why that's important,” he said without emotion.

When he tried to turn away, Jean grabbed his gun and pushed the barrel down. “Armin,” he said, each sound fiercely flying off his tongue, “we all trust you. No matter what happens. I trust you with my life and everyone else's. So if anything happens--” Armin looked down “--if anything happens it is not on your shoulders, okay?”

“Okay,” Armin said, shirking his gun out of Jean's grip and bringing it back up to his eye.

“I also know when you're lying,” Jean said with a frown.

Armin sighed, closing his eyes. “I can't make that promise to you.”

Jean opened his mouth to speak again, but Armin cut him off. “Jean, I'll be fine. Go get into position. We have a mission to accomplish. Let's worry about this later.”

Jean furrowed his brow. There was silence between them, Armin watching the zombies with his bare eyes, and Jean staring at the ground in thought. He made a move to leave, but then paused. Quickly, he slipped his beanie off and put it on Armin's head. Then he headed off to his position.

When he was gone, Armin moved his ponytail down to the base of his neck and then pulled the beanie down comfortably. He folded the very front up about an inch to keep it out of his eyes, and then lifted his rifle again, making all the adjustments. Upon refocusing, he realized that now Jean would have a cold head and freezing red ears along with his fingers. He shouldn't have accepted the beanie. Now he was all cozy. 

It was too late to change it now. With his other eye he saw the infiltration team begin moving in on the cabin, their bodies like sleek shadows flicking between the trees, occasionally caught in a moonbeam, but zombies didn't really use their vision until they heard something suspicious, so they remained unaware down below in the yard. Armin caught sight of Eren, his machete silently bouncing against his back with every movement, about six hundred meters away. Matching him, six hundred meters to Armin's left, he saw Annie, small, hair gleaming silver in the moonlight.

As soon as the sharpshooters all fired, and the infiltration team attacked, half of the riflemen would join in on the hand-to-hand. Armin and Marco were two who would stay at a distance, covering anyone who needed it. Hopefully they could get in and out with the people stuck in the cabin in less than twenty minutes. Armin had it clocked at twelve minutes without any road bumps, and nineteen with.

He took in a large breath and just let it fester there in his lungs. It felt neutral, and then the heaviness set in, along with that pain that just grew and grew and grew, until finally he couldn't feel anything, and his head began to swim. At that point he let the air out and took several calming breaths. Body relaxed and alert, he focused his vision through his right eye into the scope and onto the zombies.

It got darker with every passing minute as the last of the twilight vanished, leaving just the moon and the stars and the incoming herd of angry but quiet clouds. They were so close to the moon. In a few minutes they'd swallow it up, and the others would have to turn on their head lamps. Armin could just switch to night vision, still staying invisible to the undead. The others weren't so lucky.

A few snow flakes began to fall, one landing on Armin's nose, and then his eyelashes. He blinked them away, and they dissolved into the creases of his eyes. With a flick of his finger, he turned on night vision, watching the black shapes of the infiltration team move stealthily through the green. They were almost there, at the chicken wire surrounding the yard.

 _Good luck, guys. Eren._ he thought. His finger flicked the safety off, and moved back into the trigger guard, resting on the metal trigger lightly. Just one little squeeze straight back and the contraption would fire a bullet filled with crushed rose petals, the bane of the undead, but definitely not their end. That's what decapitation was for.

The snow increased in volume. If it got too bad, even moving up wouldn't really help to the see the targets. For now, Armin could still pick them out, especially once the infiltration team turned on their head lamps. He prayed it wouldn't get worse enough to merit them going in on foot, abandoning the sniper teams, and throwing everyone in with a sword or pipe in hand.

The team stopped, crouching behind foliage. Armin set his sights on that tall black-haired zombie again. She would be the first. And she was right straight ahead, between Annie and Eren. He could help both of them without it seeming like he was choosing a side.

Jean shot the smoke round into the air with a pop. The zombies froze, all searching for the source of the noise. But before they could lock in, all the sharpshooters fired. Armin pulled the trigger and watched as his bullet hit the zombie right in the face. She fell back into an old rusted tractor, screeching out in that raw throat-grating way. The infiltration team jumped out at the zombies. Armin pumped a round into four more zombies he could see. They all slumped and cried out as the essence of the rose petals attacked their bodies like undead poison.

Armin kept pumping away, always making sure to check up on Annie and Eren each. The zombies were mobilizing, going into their blood-raged frenzy. Annie had an easier time of killing zombies, so Armin mostly killed zombies near Eren, keeping his path relatively active-zombie clear. Eren's machete sliced through zombie necks, sending the heads rolling onto the freshly fallen snow. On the chance light from the head lamps caught the ground, Armin could see the black zombie blood splattered across the snow like spilled ink.

The others—Reiner, Berthold, Connie, and Jean—leaped into action along with the infiltration team. That left Armin, Marco, Sasha, and Krista around, still holding rifles, on four points around an imagined circle surrounding the yard. The sounds of their rifles snapped through the air along with Armin's, some missing, but most of them hitting.

One bullet seared right into the brain of an undead just about to strike down Jean—from Marco no doubt. Jean dispatched it immediately and kicked it into another zombie Reiner beheaded with a strong smash from a pipe. It wasn't a clean cut, and it took a few hits, but he finally got it off, and it lobbed through the air, blood spiraling in a stream behind it.

Several zombies surrounded Annie. With a sharp intake of breath, Armin aimed his rifle and fired—only one bullet left his gun. He was out of ammo. Cursing himself for not paying closer attention, he lifted it up and began reloading bullet by bullet, eyes glancing at the cabin every second or two—not that he could really see anything through the dark snow. He snapped the last bullet in and then repositioned himself. His scope sought out the zombies surrounding her, and he began firing again, one bullet for each zombie in their strongest place—an arm for that zombie coming to claw at her, and one in the head of another going to bit her neck. In quick succession, she finished them off. One grabbed her wrist and was about to bite down, but she smashed the hilt of her machete into its face, followed by a shot from Armin, and then she finished it.

Again, Armin sought out Eren. Just as he focused on his old friend, he saw a sight that chilled every blood cell in his entire body. It was a sight he'd seen many a time. A sight he'd grown accustomed to over the past seventeen years sadly. But this time it was new and as freshly horrifying as the first time he'd seen it, when an undead had broken into his house and sunk its teeth into the hand of Armin's grandfather. Just as Eren sliced his way through the neck of the porky undead, another leaped onto his back, arms and legs wrapping around his torso. And then its teeth ripped into Eren's shoulder.

\--

July 12, 2011

BEFORE

Three years before the zombie outbreak life was so utterly normal. Armin and Eren and Mikasa, all around nine years old, played in the neighborhood park of their hometown just out of St. Louis. The air was warm, and they were the only kids on the playground that day. They roleplayed as elves—Mikasa and Armin as wood elves, and Eren as the dark elf—trying to control the tallest tower of the fortress. Of course with Mikasa, the wood elves won, and as punishment, they pushed Eren down the huge teal slide and twirled around and around and he'd fall out onto the sand laughing. They'd come down too, and he'd have to get out of the way or they'd land on him.

Life was easy back then. Being nine was easy. And it was the middle of summer. It couldn't have gotten better for them, the friends. They'd only known Mikasa really well for a few months, after her parents had gotten in that car accident and Eren's family had taken her in, but she had settled in with them so nicely. Ever since Eren pulled her out of that car wreck, since he gave her his scarf, she really had been his sister. Probably willing to die for him even though she was nine. As for Armin and Eren, they'd been friends since before they could walk, according to each other's guardians.

They all lay on the ground, the sand getting into Armin's hair and clothes, but he didn't care. He started making a sand angel, accidentally flicking sand into Eren's face and starting a wrestling match. Mikasa had to break the two apart.

“We'll be friends till we're old men, right Eren?” Armin said once they'd settled back down again, watching the tiny clouds that dotted the sky. “Travel the whole world together and then retire in some awesome beach place. With you too, Mikasa.”

Eren put his hands under his head and grinned. “Definitely. We have to go to Japan though. That's the most important.”

“Because Mikasa's from there?” Armin asked.

“Yeah and it's got that cool Fuja mountain or wahtever,” Eren said.

“Fuji,” Mikasa corrected.

“Yeah, that one.” Eren closed his eyes and sighed contentedly. “We'll go see Fuji Mountain, and Mikasa will teach us Japanese, and we'll drink tea and stuff.”

Mikasa laughed. “But you don't like tea, Eren.”

“I don't know, maybe I'll like Japanese tea, ya know? Where do you want to go Armin?”

Armin didn't need to think about it. “Egypt. You know, to see the pyramids and all. I was reading my parents' journals and the last entry I read talked about them. My grandpa helped me look them up on the internet and they look so amazing!” He stretched his arms out far from his sides, like if he reached far enough he could touch those pyramids.

“There's probably still creepy mummy dudes down in there,” Eren said excitedly. “And gold!” He rolled onto his stomach and looked at the other two. “If we broke in and found a secret room we'd be rich. They'd name stuff after us. The Mikeremin Collection or the Mikeremin Exbit.”

“Exhibit,” Armin said.

Eren rolled his eyes. “Exhibit, Fuji, whatever.”

“I like Ereminkasa,” Mikasa said.

Eren tried it with his own mouth. “Ereminkasa. Hmm. I kind of like that.”

“I don't care what it's called,” Armin said. “I just want us to go to Egypt. What bout you Mikasa? You haven't said where you wanna go.”

She played with the scarf around her neck, flipping it from side to side absentmindedly. “I want to go that big Ferris wheel in London.”

“Oh!” Armin said enthusiastically. “The London Eye.”

“London, Egypt, and Japan. We're going to those places first!” Eren decided determinedly. “And nothing's going to stop us. Not money or adults or stupid people. Hey, what if we got a dog too to take with us? I've always wanted a dog, but my mom's lergic. When I'm old enough and I leave we could get one.”

“I like dogs,” Mikasa said. “We should get a Great Dane.”

“Me too!” Armin said with a grin. “Great Dane might be too big to travel with though. Hotels and stuff, they have weight limits and breed things.”

“Maybe it'll be different when we're older,” Eren said with a shrug.

“Yeah, maybe.” Armin thought about Egypt, about going to those pyramids, actually _touching_ them with his hand. Taking a picture at them with Eren and Mikasa. They'd travel the world. Maybe become famous for all the places they'd visit, all the things they'd do. The most famous trio in all the world, surpassing Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Who was who? Armin was Hermione, because he was the smartest. Eren was Ron, the loyal guy. And Mikasa could be Harry, because unlike the other two, she could be sassy when she wanted, and also, everyone liked her. If anyone was the Chosen One, it would be her. She could do anything. Yeah, they'd be the new Harry Potter trio, but instead the Ereminkasa trio. Famous world travelers.

–

April 2, 2022

THE NEW TRIO

Eight years after the zombie outbreak, nineteen-year-old Armin Arlert sat on a soggy wooden bench inside the lobby of Kansas Shelter #104 in Topeka. There'd been a ceiling once—it was still there on the sides. But the middle was a giant gaping hole. Armin wondered how it had collapsed or broken. Why no one had bothered to fix it if this was the lobby of the third-largest shelter in the midwest. He folded his arms across his chest, shivering, trying to stay warm. No one talked to him, and vice versa, except on official business. That's how it was with most people. They really didn't have much to talk about outside business, outside food and clothing and shelter. Unless they had dark ulterior motives.

A Golden Retriever dog ran through the lobby, across the old newspapers the staff of volunteers had thrown over the concrete like new carpeting. It had been three years since any newspaper had printed anything. No one cared about them. The dog sure didn't. She stopped a moment to pee on some, and then slipped out of the hands of a volunteer who was chasing her. Armin watched the dog jump down onto the steps leading to the basement, the volunteer panting after her.

“Hey, man, you Arlert?” someone asked.

Armin looked up, and was shocked when he saw it was just another civilian like him. Only the staff talked to him, when he signed in and all, and when they gave everyone their weekly allotment papers. But today wasn't Sunday—allotment day—it was Wednesday, so Armin already had his papers and no one had a reason to talk to him. They shouldn't have, at least.

It was a guy about his age, a few centimeters taller, with really weird hair—light on top, dark and shaved closer on bottom. And he had this cocky look in his eyes. He stood cockily too, hips forward, feet wide apart, arms folded. But his clothes were as poor as Armin's, and he just looked like he was trying too hard to be cool.

“Y-yes,” Armin said. “Armin Arlert.”

The guy sat down beside him, slinging an arm along the length of the bench. Some raindrops flecked his hair, and others ran down his neck in streams. “The name's Jean Kirschtein. There's only two other guys even close to my age, so I thought I'd find both of you. The other one is Butt or something. I have to look again.”

“What do you want from me?” Armin asked quietly, scooting several centimeters away to the edge of the bench. “I don't have anything.”

Jean blinked. “I don't want anything from you. Hey, wait.” His arm came down, flattening against the wood between him and Armin. His lips curled into a frown. “Some assholes try to take anything from you?”

A lot of people's inner bully came out once the zombies did. Survival and all. Armin was used to it. Back when he was young, he was bullied all the time. It was Eren who'd always come to his rescue, though, most times it ended up in him getting beaten to a pulp and Armin taking him to the nurse's office or home while the bullies laughed at them. Once Mikasa came along, it had been easier because everyone was scared of her, and rightly so. Even when she was really young, that woman could pack a strong well-aimed punch or slap to the face or ear.

Wherever Eren was right now, Armin hoped he had Mikasa with him still.

“Stuff happens,” Armin said, shrugging, in response to Jean's question.

“No, fuck that,” Jean said.

“I don't want to cause trouble,” Armin said. “I'm not defenseless or anything; I just figure there's enough problems in the world. And what if they really need whatever they're taking or something? Maybe they need it more than me.”

Jean shook his head. “You really think so? Look, everyone needs everything the same as everybody else. That was badly worded, but you get my point, okay? The world's shit. So you gotta hold on to whatever it is you have, no matter how small it might be.” He lightly punched Armin in the chest.

Armin looked away, at an old peeling poster telling people to go on a beautiful Alaskan cruise. Preposterous. Who wanted to go on a cruise up in super cold land? Why not go to the Caribbean, or the Mediterranean, where it was warmer—or at least milder. Armin had planned to go on both those cruises. But never Alaska.

“Why do you care anyway?” Armin asked eventually. “You don't know me.”

“No, I don't, but life's easier when you have friends, right? My mom's who-knows-where, my dad's a fucking zombie, and all the people I knew in my hometown probably are too.” His jaw clenched and he avoided Armin's gaze.

Armin bit his lip. “Where you from?”

“Chicago,” Jean said shortly.

“I'm . . . sorry to hear that.” Chicago had lasted for seven years against the zombies, successfully keeping the infection out with a giant wall and a helluva lot of firepower. A few months ago it had been breached somehow. No one knew how. The town was too messy, too many people turned to zombies, for any kind of investigation to be launched. Now only seven cities remained—San Diego, Seattle, Helena, Salt Lake City, Miami, Montpelier, and Albuquerque—completely sealed off from the infection, and none of them letting in people from beyond their walls. They were too scared. There were too many risks. 

But the odds were piling against them. They couldn't last forever. And that wasn't Armin's opinion, he _knew_. He'd done the calculations. He'd done so many for so many things. The only uplifting thing was the fact the human race might still survive, even if life was shitty, they would survive. And maybe one day scientists would find a cure.

“Ah,” Jean said with a half-smile. “I know. But there's nothing anyone can do about it now. Just have to move on.” But he still wouldn't look at Armin. Obviously Jean hadn't moved on. Armin sure hadn't moved on from anything that had occurred in the past eight years. “And this is me moving on, finding new friends, new company. No one can afford to live alone.”

Armin just shrugged. He didn't know what to say to this Jean he had known for all of two minutes. Strangers were usually brash, mean, and used conversation to get something out of Armin. That's why he usually tended to avoid any and all conversation anymore. Even though he was getting a good vibe from Jean, he couldn't really tell if it was just his hope or the actual truth of the situation. Everything was muddled. After all, if he could have such a bad falling out with _Eren_ , how well did he really know people? How well could he read them?

“Where were you from, anyway?” Jean asked, finally looking over.

“Just outside of St. Louis.”

“Oh, shit," he said in shock, eyes widening. “That sucks, man. Sucks bad.”

“You don't have to tell me; I was there.” Armin drew his jacket tighter over his body. “Look, if there's nothing you want, I'm tired.”

“I already told you I don't want anything but a few friendly faces. Even if you won't be my friend, at least we'll know each other, right? At the moment my friendly-face count is zero. Unless you let me add you to that imaginary list,” Jean said. “What do you say?”

Armin opened his mouth and then closed it.

Jean put his hands up. “Okay. I get it. Trust issues. Everyone has them. I'll try that Butt guy. He had freckles in his picture and this puppy dog face, so he can't be too bad. Have to go see where they put him first. Maybe I'll be back. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to call, because I know you will.” He slapped Armin on the shoulder and hopped to his feet, heading off towards the second floor staircase.

Not long after, the sound of barking reached Armin's ears. He saw the dog return, running up the stairs, tail wagging, skinny body shaking, but with a gleeful look on her face. She bolted across the lobby, kicking up newspapers. In a few short seconds she was gone again, out the front doors just as a couple of soldiers were walking in. The volunteer who'd been chasing her was nowhere to be seen. Maybe they'd given up.

Wherever the dog was going, Armin hoped she'd be okay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day before the apocalypse, the day Armin meets Annie, and the original trio stuck in a barn alone.

February 9, 2014 – Hours Before It Happened

BEFORE

They sat on Eren's old red couch watching _Gravity_. Armin was on one end, his knees up to his chest, staring at the screen without hardly blinking. It was one of his most irrational fears, getting lost alone in space, left along to suffocate in the cold darkness. He hadn't wanted to watch the movie, but the others did, and it was Mikasa's birthday tomorrow—they were celebrating today because she was leaving for Disneyland tomorrow—so he didn't complain. The other two were way into it: Eren leaned forward, green eyes all bug-like, his fingers gripping the edge of the frayed couch cushions; and Mikasa sat Indian style, hands on her knees, mouth pursed, blinking dramatically every time something crazy happened. At the moment the main character was trying to detach a parachute from the ISS so she could get away, and all the near misses, all the debris flying around her, made Armin's stomach make knots he could never do with his own hands.

Eren's mom Carla walked in with some fast food. She set it on the counter along with the keys. They paused the movie just as she got the Soyuz detached and Armin let out a heavy breath, sinking into the cushions. Eren had to pry him off and lead him to the bar stools so they could eat their oversized messy burgers. It was another Mikasa birthday thing. She'd said she didn't want any fancy dinners, just good old fashioned burgers and fries and the company of her two best friends.

Armin could barely get his mouth over the giant burger. And as soon as he chomped down, all the juices squirted out the bottom all over his hand. He felt the warmth as a stream trickled down over his palm, and onto his forearm. Before he could lick it off, Eren dove in and did it instead.

“Gross!” Armin said, laughing.

“That's what I aim to be,” Eren said. He turned his mischievous eyes over to Mikasa who moved her burger farther away from him in case he tried the same thing.

“Keep your tongue to yourself,” Mikasa said.

“Is that a birthday command?” Eren asked, puffing out his chest. He took a bite of his burger, chewed it a bit, and then opened his mouth, showing both Armin and Mikasa the wonders inside.

“Stop!” Armin shouted. “You're nasty, Eren.” He uses his elbow to push Eren's cheek away while the loser laughed like he was the funniest guy in the world.

Carla popped her head in and immediately Eren straightened up, eating his burger like a perfectly normal person. Her eyebrows raised suspiciously, but she disappeared again. As soon as the coast was clear, Eren turned to Armin and opened his mouth again, this time adding in disgusting sound effects.

“You'll never get a girlfriend at this rate,” Mikasa muttered.

Eren chewed some more and swallowed. “I don't need no girls!” he proclaimed. “I am a strong independent man!”

The other two just “mmhmed” in sarcastic agreement. Eren wrinkled his nose at their disbelief and went back to his burger, taking the most monstrous bite he could. He tried to chew it all in his not-big-enough mouth. It looked like exercise, his face turned up to stare at the ceiling, eyes narrowed, looking like he was going to cry.

Armin tapped him on the shoulder, and when Eren stopped chewing and looked over, Armin bestowed him the present of half-chewed food in his own mouth. All the burger mess in Eren's mouth spit out, and Armin cursed so loud and so foul Carla came back in to scold them. But then she saw the situation—Armin glaring at Eren with a face full of Eren-saliva-and-burger, and Eren covering his mouth, simply shocked at what had just happened. Mikasa just sat on his other side, calmly eating some fries and smiling to herself.

While Armin cleaned his face in the bathroom, Eren leaning against the doorframe, Mikasa sitting on the toilet still eating fries, Eren started flapping his gums. “We should probably be hosing you down outside.” Armin flicked some water at him.

“I'm scarred for life,” Armin said after he towel-dried his face. “And I need a new shirt too because it's covered in your foul diseased putrefied spit-infused burger fodder.”

“Wow, what?”

“Putrefied means decayed or rotted,” Mikasa supplied.

Eren's face got all red. “I know what it means.” He turned and walked away down the hallway. The others looked at each other, wondering if they'd done something wrong, but he came back with a clean black shirt in his hands. He threw it over Armin's head. “You can borrow my shirt. That way you don't have to go all the way to your house.”

“It's just down the street,” Armin said, pulling the shirt off his head. “But thanks.”

Eren smiled. “It's the least I can do.” He leaned in closer as Armin changed into the new bigger one. “My mom told me I better not pick up any curse words from you. Little does she know you got it from me.” He laughed and ruffled Armin's hair. “Hey, at least your hair came out unscathed. I know I'd regret it if I ruined that.”

“Yes you would,” Armin said with a smile. “Next time you're gross I'm going to throw up on _you_.”

“It's only fair.”

Mikasa rolled her eyes. “Let's go finish our movie.” She held up her half-eaten carton of fries. “Anyone want the rest?”

Both of the boys recoiled in fear.

“I need a lot more time before I can eat fast food again,” Eren said.

“Says the one who spit on _me_.”

“I'm weak, what can I say?”

They walked back to the red couch, to see if the lady would make it back down to Earth in the end, with Armin watching the back of Eren's head and thinking, _You're not weak, Eren. You and Mikasa are the strongest people I know._ He sat down next to Eren and sat Indian style like Mikasa, his hands resting on the couch cushions. A few minutes later he felt the warmth of Eren's hand resting on his.

-  
August 13, 2025

THREE PLUS THREE

They were just outside Sioux Falls, the biggest safe zone for hundreds of miles. The market was busy this time of day, so Armin gave Jean and Marco the list of supplies they needed from the National Guard while he went into the market by himself. Mostly they just needed some food, a new canteen for Marco, toothpaste, toilet paper, match sticks, and batteries for the flash lights. It was relatively cool outside, but as soon as he entered the market, even the outdoor section, it became sultry. He tied his hair up out of his face, and then twisted it into a tight bun so his neck could breathe. The one rebellious lock of hair of course came loose and framed the left side of his face.

First he went over to the food stations, because they were the most important. He had items to trade in the pack on his back. Most of the time the vendors gave him stuff for less when they saw the gun on his back. Mercenaries were always treated better than the average civilian. They were risking their lives every day to keep the rest of them safe, and for nothing. No extra supplies, no acclaim. The little special treatment in the markets was the most they'd get. It was enough for Armin. More than enough.

Canned food was the most important, seeing that it lasted the longest. He traded pair of strong-soled black shoes he'd picked up in an empty house near the Chicago area for two 24-can cases of silly pasta and sauce meals. They were the vendor's size, so he even added in a brand new can-opener. Armin smiled and thanked him. He set the cases in his cart and pulled it along after him towards the personal hygiene vendors.

He stopped at a teeth care store, grabbing a handful of toothpaste tubes from the wall and throwing them in his cart. The store was so small it was hard to maneuver his cart without it seeming like he was attempting to murder people. One of the wheels went over the foot of a blonde woman. She didn't make any noise, but quickly moved her foot out, face screwed up in pain.

“Sorry, sorry,” Armin said quickly.

She flicked hair out of her face when she looked up at him with a rather neutral expression. She took a second to take him all in—his bun, his huge blue eyes, the rifle slung around his shoulder, the high-quality mud-caked combat boots on his feet. Her eyes lingered a long time on his cargo pants, like they held some special significance, but when she spoke, she said nothing about it.

“I've had far worse,” she said and turned away to buy her toilet paper and toothbrush at the counter.

Armin looked at her a moment longer, and then continued shopping, grabbing his own toilet paper. The vendor wasn't as open to discounts as the other one, but he did throw in an extra toothbrush. Jean would like that. Armin paid him in a nice pair of leather gloves he'd gotten from the same place near Chicago—that place had been a gold mine—and an old dollar coin for fun, even though it had little value now.

Outside he stopped to catch his breath and cool down in the shade, leaning against a brick wall between two shops, one of his feet up on the edge of his cart. His eyes scanned the crowd lazily, wondering at the stories of everyone who passed him. Where they had originally come from. Who'd they'd lost. Most people didn't care about that stuff, but Armin did. He wanted to know about people. In this world, that's all people had now, each other. For them, Armin went out beyond the safe zones.

The batteries were harder to come by for everyone, but luckily being a merc, Armin could usually get his hands on more than others could. Afterward he got the canteen, and some other little things, leaving only the match sticks. When he went into the little dusty shop, empty at the moment, the old man who owned it was actually in the process of making a match, carving the wood of the shaft. He didn't look up when Armin came in, just kept on dragging his knife along the wood. Armin had to clear his throat and politely say, “Excuse me,” before the vendor set his tools down and looked up at him, giving him a judging look.

“What is it you want?” he asked in a low gargly voice. “Can you not read? My shop is closed.”

Armin looked over at the door. He was sure there hadn't even been a sign in the first place, let alone one that said closed. “There wasn't . . . there wasn't one.”

The vendor looked over and rolled his eyes. “Damn kids stole it again, didn't they? Well, you're here, you're not in the wrong, so I may as well help you. Speak up now before I change my mind. Name's Pixis, and this is Pixis Wood Works, by the way, if the hooligans haven't run away with _that_ sign as well.” Pixis picked up a flask from his desk and took a long swig.

“I did see that,” Armin said quietly. “I need three boxes of matches.”

“Three?” Pixis leaned back and half-smiled. “You have the funds for that, m'boy?”

Armin lifted his chin. “Yes. Whatever you need, I'm sure I have something to accommodate you with.” He took the pack of his back—momentarily holding his gun in one hand to do so, which Pixis looked at in interest—and set it on the counter. “Take a look for yourself.”

Pixis did so, rifling through the contents. Nothing seemed to catch his eye, because he nudged it back towards Armin and then took another lazy swig of alcohol.

“Is there . . . is there nothing in there you need?” Armin asked, baffled. Anyone else would have loved to get their hands on anything in that bag. Even Armin wanted all the stuff in that bag, and he'd keep it if he could afford it. Pixis' price must have been too high. Maybe there was another match place in town.

“Nope,” he said, twitching his nose.

“And that's it?” Armin asked, frowning.

“That's it. There's low-grade matches on the other side of town, but for a merc like you, I don't think they're quite what you're looking for. Still, it's cheaper, and Mylius has lower standards than I do. He'll take anything of value, no matter how little.” He snort-laughed and picked his knife back up. “Go scurry along now, m'boy.”

Armin glanced at his cart and then at Pixis, who was working again. He needed good strong matches. Their current supply would run out before they made it to the next safe zone. It was possible to find some along the way, but that was never a certainty. Outside the safe zones, everything was multiple choice. From day one Armin had to shed his belief in good odds of finding anything. Mercs couldn't afford to look on the bright side, couldn't afford to be optimists. There had to be something Armin had that would make Pixis' mouth water.

“What would be your price? Maybe I can get it,” Armin said.

Pixis looked up in annoyance. “Really? You really want to know?”

Armin nodded.

The old watery eyes glanced at the rifle. “That.”

Instantly, Armin brought it closer to his body. “No.”

Pixis held his hands up and shrugged. “Then we have nothing more to talk about.”

“You ask too much,” Armin insisted. “No one would ask for a rifle, especially from a merc, for three boxes of matches.”

The bell at the door rang and someone walked in. They both looked over, and Armin blinked when he saw it was the blonde he'd previously tried to kill in the other shop. She walked over and stood beside him, looking down at Pixis with a sneer, one hand on her hip. “Pixis.”

“Leonhart,” Pixis said with extreme dislike.

She undid her gun belt containing a handgun, a 1911, and threw it on the counter. “I need however many boxes that gives me.”

Licking his lips, Pixis took the gun belt in his hands and smiled. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She moved some hair out of her face.

Pixis grabbed four from the wall behind him and slapped them on the counter. “Pleasure doing business with you, Leonhart.”

“Wish I could say the same.” She took the boxes, glanced at Armin, and then walked out.

It took a few seconds for Armin's brain to click, but then he hurried out after her, dragging the cart along. Out the door, he looked for her—she was hard to find in the crowd, being so short and all. But then he caught sight of her, turning a corner, heading to the outskirts of the market. He meandered his way through the crowd, going as fast as he could. When the turned the corner she was already gone. Cursing under his breath, he kept moving. She didn't need four boxes of matches, surely. And even if Pixis wouldn't take his stuff, the Leonhart girl had to, right?

On the next street he saw her talking to a couple of men, a really tall brunet, and a tall blond. They too had hand guns, and also machetes strapped to their backs. When Armin came towards them, one hand on the knife strapped to his thigh, they all looked over. Different merc bands didn't always get along. Armin had to be prepared.

“Yes?” the Leonhart woman asked without any particular tone attached.

“Those matches,” Armin said, nodding to the ones under her arm, “how much for them?”

The woman tilted her head to the side. “I just gave up my hand gun for these. Why would I give them to you?”

A good question. A merc's gun was its most trusted companion, even more so than the flesh-and-blood ones at your side. If the blonde was willing to give up her hand gun for those matches instead of going across town to get those other kind, then they must have been really good quality. Or else the other ones just sucked so bad it was laughable. At the least she would ask for his gun, just like Pixis had. But Armin wasn't going to part with that unless his life depended on it.

He slipped the knife from his thigh and balanced it on his extended palm. “What about this?”

She didn't even look at it. “I've got plenty of knives.”

“Ordinary knives?” Armin asked.

The question caught her attention and she raised her chin a bit, eyes watching him intently. “Aren't all knives ordinary?”

Armin flipped the knife up in his hand, catching it by the blade and pointing the hilt towards her. “My knife's a zombie's nightmare.”

“How so?” the blond guy asked, stroking his chin, thin slanty eyebrows pulled forward.

“One word: roses. It's like poison to them, right?” When they nodded, he continued. “I made the knife myself.” Not something he'd figured out by himself. He used to have a blacksmith friend, and together with her skills and Armin's mind, they'd created a blade that when rubbed with rose petals, it retained the oil within its metal for hours. Stick it in a zombie, it had the same effect as a rose bullet. That was seven blades ago. Armin had made the last two himself, the first one under the watch of the blacksmith, and the one in his hand right now completely by himself. His friend had been turned a few weeks before, and the blade Armin made under her watch he had used to cut off her head.

When he told them that, the blonde guy made an impressed face, while the brunet stared in amazement. Leonhart even managed some emotion, a little smile glowing on her face. “And how do I know you're not lying? You may have the face of an honest man, but that's the lie.”

Armin blinked, his extended hand faltering for a moment. “A joint mission. Your unit and mine. Then you can see it in action. How many boxes would it be worth?”

She glanced at the others and then said, “Three boxes.”

That was exactly how many he needed. “So is it a deal?”

“You speak for your unit?” she asked.

“Er, no. I'd have to talk with them. But we need the matches more than we need the knife.” He would just make another one. “Making good matches is more difficult than it sounds. We've tried, trust me.”

“So have we,” Leonhart said. “We'll be in town for a few more hours. If your unit is willing, meet us at the eastern gate at six. If you're not there within ten minutes, we'll be gone and so will the matches.”

Armin nodded. “We'll be there. I'm sure.”

She held out a hand. “The name's, Annie, by the way. Annie Leonhart. And that's Reiner Braun and Berthold Hoover.”

Slowly he took her hand, giving it one small shake. Then their hands just stayed there, connected, unmoving. “Armin Arlert.”

Jean and Marco were at the depot still, packing supplies into the jeep. Armin put his load in, folded up the cart, and then pulled them aside. He explained the situation, and Marco agreed heartily while Jean stared at Armin in suspicion, as if he was Annie at that moment.

“I don't like working with other mercs,” Jean drawled. “Can't trust them.”

“You want long-lasting double-usage matches or some more fast-burning twigs?” Armin asked. “We need those matches. I can get a knife anywhere. And if we get more materials, I'll make a new one. But the matches are more important.” His blue eyes searched Jean's face. “Put aside your distrust for just a day or two.”

“Yeah, come on, Jean. It won't kill you,” Marco said, slapping him on the back.

Jean looked over at Marco and growled. He could never resist that face. “Fine. Fine. But if anything even _smells_ wrong, we're gone. Finish setting the supplies in the jeep. I have to go sign off on them and get mission orders from the commander.”

In the jeep on the way to the eastern gate, Armin read over the orders. Every time they received new supplies from the National Guard, they were given tasks to complete in recompense. Last time they had invaded an old medic clinic overrun with zombies to help those people still alive on the top floor. They had been stuck there for nine days with limited supplies, so most of them had been dead. But the trio got two people out, including a child. This time the orders directed them to Evanston, Wyoming, a tiny town consumed by the infection in a couple of hours. There was a training station there on a hill that had recently been overrun, with new soldiers stuck inside. It was Armin, Jean, and Marco's job to get them out alive and to the nearest training station still functioning.

“Never been to Wyoming,” Armin said quietly. He pulled out his map of the world, fold lines so worn they were starting to rip in places. Gently he unfolded it on his lap and pulled a marker from the glove compartment. The map was a relic of a time before the zombies, when he had first planned to travel the entire world, leaving a black dot on every single country and territory and random piece of land in the world. Even with the zombie thing going on, he still used it for that very purpose, even if he wasn't exactly enjoying himself with every visit to a new place. He put a big black dot in Wyoming and then a star on Evanston.

“How many states does that make?” Marco asked, leaning forward from the back seat, hands on the head rests, looking over Armin's map.

“Thirteen,” Armin said.

“Only thirty-seven more states to go,” he said with a smile.

“And hundreds of countries,” Jean added.

Marco punched him in the shoulder and then sat back in his seat.

They stopped at a cafe on the way to grab a quick meal in exchange for a lock of Jean's hair—the owner was a little eccentric—and then proceeded to the eastern gate five minutes before six o'clock. Marco got out and stretched his legs, while Armin sat on the hood. Jean just stood in the doorway, arm around the frame to keep himself up as he observed the area.

At 6:01 Annie and her unit showed up in their own rusty pickup truck. Reiner was driving, and he screeched to a stop, kicking up dust. It made their exit all the more dramatic as they emerged from the dust, all side-by-side, weapons around their Kevlar-wrapped bodies.

“So you're Leonhart Unit,” Jean said, lifting one corner of his mouth. “How long have you been a thing?”

“Five years,” Berthold said. “But we've known each other since we were all kids.”

“How sweet,” Jean said. “First, some ground rules: no one orders anybody in another unit. We're only playing nice till we show you how true to our word we are, and then we get the matches in exchange for the knife, okay? And if you give either of my friends the smallest sketchy look, you will regret it.”

Annie smirked. “Big man. If I cared enough, I may test you on that.”

Jean gritted his teeth.

She looked at Armin. “Let's kill some zombies.” With a small hand movement, she and the other two headed back to their truck.

Armin gaze followed her all the way, and then Marco was tapping his shoulder, telling him to hurry or Jean would get all crazy.

“I hate other mercs,” Jean muttered, turning the engine.

“She didn't seem so bad,” Armin murmured. And in fact it made him sad to think that after this was over, he'd most likely never see her ever again.

-

February 10, 2014

THE BEGINNING

They sat together, huddled in the corner. Armin's little fire flickered between them all. It was cold, snowing outside. They couldn't stay in the shed for too long. Already the creatures were spreading through the city fast, and they'd go beyond. Armin figured they'd be at the farm in little over an hour. It would be smart to kill one of the pigs in the barn for meat, but the thought made Armin's stomach sick. He didn't want to kill a pig or any animal for that matter. That wasn't who he was. And he didn't know how to do any of that properly. Maybe between the three of them they could figure it out.

Eren hadn't said much since it started. Neither he or Mikasa said anything about what happened before they met up with Armin in the middle of the street. Armin hadn't told them about his grandfather, about seeing the man he loved more than anyone in the world turn into one of those vile feral creatures and try to _kill_ him. And if it hadn't been for his pet cat distracting the new zombie, Armin would have fallen to the same fate. Now the cat was either dead or a zombie himself, and somewhere out there Armin's ex-grandfather roamed. He suspected something similar may have happened with Eren and Mikasa, but he didn't dare ask. They had to talk when they were ready, if ever.

“Happy birthday, Mikasa,” Armin said quietly.

Her eyes flicked up from the fire.

“What's happy about it?” Eren muttered, his fists clenching. “There's nothing _happy_.” His foot came out, kicking the pile of twigs into a scattered pile. The fire quickly died away without its already tiny pile of fuel, plunging them into a darkness only lit faintly by starlight.

Mikasa put her hand on Eren's arm. “Eren, that won't help.”

“Nothing will help,” he said, hanging his head. “Nothing. We're going to be here when they come. We're going to turn into them.” His body started shaking, tears falling from his eyes. “I feel so useless. So young and useless.”

Armin stared out the window, towards the city. All the lights were out, but he could see the faint outline of the buildings against the sky. Yesterday it had been burning. Then the rain came. Now everything was just dark. Dead. Just like the inside of Armin's soul. He felt hollow, like someone had scooped out everything that made him up and he was just skin, just a shell. If the zombies did turn him, there wasn't much to change. He had already resigned himself to the fact he would eventually be one of them. If not today, then tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. He wouldn't die from old age. He would die from them.

They sat there, listening to Eren cry, until he had no more tears, and it was just dry hacking sobs. It petered out over the next ten minutes. His body grew still, still hunched over, but his hand open and relaxed now.

“Thank you, Armin,” Mikasa said, as if Armin had bid her a happy birthday just then.

Mikasa took off her scarf and wrapped it around Eren's neck. One of his hands reached up and wrapped around it. But he didn't pull it off or anything. No, his hand just hung there, connected to the scarf.

Armin wished he could have some kind of tangible connection like that. They shared a bond he had never known, may never know. That scarf held so many words in its fibers. The space between Armin and Eren was empty, wordless. He still had on Eren's black shirt, the one he'd borrowed yesterday. Maybe that could be it if it wasn't just associated with him spitting burger shit all over Armin's face. He wanted to reach over and take Eren's hand, like how they had touched yesterday on the couch watching _Gravity_ , but his hands stayed frozen in his lap.

“We have to go soon,” he said.

“Where?” Mikasa said.

“I don't know,” Armin admitted. “Away from the zombies. But we don't have food or water. There's the farm animals, but . . .”

Mikasa got to her feet. “Don't worry about it, Armin. I'll do it. Watch over Eren.” And she turned and left, heading towards the barn.

Armin moved closer to Eren, sitting right up against him, and put his head on Eren's back, listening to the sounds air made in his body when he breathed. The gentle beat of his heart. He breathed in Eren's scent until his nose had grown accustomed to it.

In the distance he heard the squeal of a pig.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An aid station, fucking moron Grisha Jaeger, the Freckle King!, and Card Cards.

January 2, 2017

THE MIDDLE

They came across Grisha purely by chance. He was in Birmingham, Alabama, at the aid station there. The trio came in, Armin bleeding from his head, and Eren with his leg all twisted, Mikasa carrying him in her arms. Through the pain he was extraordinarily coherent, and he spotted his father first, sitting on a bench, wiping his forehead with a damp rag, his eyes wide and unseeing. Armin called his name, even though the strain of it hurt his head even more. But Grisha looked over and when he recognized the three of them, he got to his feet and raced over, stealing Eren from Mikasa's arms.

He left the two of them there, taking Eren away to the doctors. Mikasa tried to follow him, but Armin grabbed her sleeve. She looked over at him and raised a hand, lightly touching some blood on his forehead.

A doctor found them, asked if anything was wrong with Mikasa—she was just tired—and then took Armin to a white room with just a medical bed and some flickering lights. The man cleaned his head and wrapped some bandages around it.

“Where's Eren?” Armin asked. “My friend, he has green eyes and brown hair. His . . . his leg.” Some tears tried to escape from his eyes, but he wiped them and bit down hard on his lip.

“I don't know kid. Look, I'm busy,” the doctor said. “There's other people that need help.” And he kicked Armin out.

When he went out, Mikasa ran over to him. “How do you feel, Armin?”

“Dizzy but okay. Where's Eren?”

Her black eyes grew round. “I . . .” Her voice shook. “I don't know.” She smashed her face down into Armin's shoulder, fingers curling into his shirt. He blinked in shock, but wrapped his arms around her. Usually this was the other way around. Usually Armin was the one crying into shoulders—though, Mikasa wasn't crying. Usually Mikasa was their rock, the one they could always count on.

Just a few months ago, at the train station, when they were heading here and finally out of Missouri after three years, he watched her grab a pipe and smash a zombie away into the ground. And she had kept beating its body over and over, black blood spraying everywhere. Finally she smashed through its neck and threw away the pipe. Eren and Armin had stood there, staring at her in shock. Blood soaked into her clothes, flecked her face. She had saved Armin then. Without thinking.

Everything was different when it came to Eren. 

They waited in the front lobby, watching person after person come in with some wound or another. Mikasa was silent, leaning against Armin, staring at the floor tiles like they were the most interesting things she'd ever seen. His thumb rubbed up and down her arm, and nothing really went through his head. Nothing could until he knew how Eren was. If he was okay.

Grisha came out, cleaning his glasses and then setting them on his nose. He knelt down in front of them, taking Mikasa's hand. They awaited his words of comfort, his promise to take care of them from now on. God knew they need him. Desperately. “Eren needs you. Room 112.”

Mikasa frowned.

Her second father squeezed her hand, nodded to Armin, and then left. He just left the aid station. Mikasa leaped to her feet and ran after him, scarf flying out behind her, hand extended in the air as it to grab a hold of him. Armin stayed behind, watching her with a gaping mouth. Why was he leaving? Why would he leave his children behind? They needed him most now. What were fifteen-year-olds supposed to do? They'd never gone out into the world. They hadn't known how the old world worked when you were an adult, let alone this new one.

Armin turned and broke into a run, the number 112 running through his head. He looked at every door number, barely mumbling out an apology as he almost ran down exhausted doctors and nurses. He slid around the corner and then kept going until he saw it, there on the right, engraved on a bronze piece of metal. Without waiting for permission, he turned the knob and rushed in.

A doctor snapped his head over. “Get out, kid.”

“No. He's my friend,” Armin said in a rush.

The doctor sighed and looked back at the clipboard in his hand. He moved out of the way so Armin could see Eren lying on the bed, his head to the side, knocked out by anesthetic or something. He looked more peaceful than Armin had seen in years. He tiptoed over to his bedside and sought out Eren's hand, holding it between both of his.

“Eren . . .” His gaze traveled down to his covered legs. There was one bump. One instead of two. He looked at the doctor, who only nodded his head a few times silently. The tears came this time, and Armin didn't try to stop them. They poured down his face and he bent over, putting his head into Eren's stomach.

 _Why did he leave when he knew Eren had . . . had . . . lost his leg?_ he thought in despair. _What kind of father does that?_

They heard footsteps in the hall, running, and then the door slammed open. The doctor cursed, but didn't try to stop Mikasa as she ran in over to Eren's side, taking his other hand, panting from her run. “Eren?”

“He's asleep right now,” Armin whispered, lifting his head.

It didn't take long for her look down at his legs, to notice that there was only one and a half. They'd cut it off just above the knee. Her face screwed up and she looked back at his serene face. A finger brushed some hair out of his face.

“Ah, look,” the doctor started in a tone Armin didn't like. “He can stay the night, but tomorrow he has to go, okay? He's no longer at risk of infection. I'll get him some crutches, and an escort to the nearest shelter, but that's all I can do. We have other patients who need attending to with more serious wounds than him.”

“More serious?” Armin said. “He lost his _leg_.”

The doctor's mouth curled into a half-amused half-sad smile. “Where have you been the past few years, kid? Would you rather he turned into one of those things out there?”

“Of course not,” Armin insisted and bit his tongue. “I . . .”

“Yes?”

But Armin said nothing. He just looked back at Eren, at the way Mikasa was caressing his face now. Armin had seen Carla do the same thing many times before. Mikasa was the only one Eren would let do that to him.

 _What's he going to do when he wakes up?_ Armin thought. He squeezed Eren's hand tighter, probably too tight, but Eren was so far gone into sleep it didn't stir him. Armin brought their combined hands to his forehead and closed his eyes. _Whatever happens, Eren, both of us will be here for you._

The doctor left a few minutes later, leaving the clipboard hanging on the end of the bed.

“Mikasa,” Armin breathed. “What about . . . Eren's dad?”

She looked over and in her eyes he knew: Grisha was gone. There was no telling when he'd be back, or if he'd even be back at all. The three of them were still on their own. How long could they last like that? The more time that passed, the more rare and expensive supplies were. With all the economies shut down and trying to begin anew to accommodate the new order, there wasn't room for people who couldn't take care of themselves. Natural selection had taken a spot center stage. It was only a matter of time before they bent to its will. They had to find a way to survive.

–

April 4, 2022

THE NEW TRIO

Despite the allotments, the shelter had run short. People complained, asked the staff how they were expected to keep going if they didn't have food for the next three days. Armin took his two water bottles, all they could give him that day, and went off into a corner, sitting against the wall, sipping water, occasionally looking out the window overlooking the trash-littered street. There was a Porsche still parked out there, the frame intact, but its insides gutted like it was a pig for the slaughter. In the background people moaned and wept. The music of humanity.

“I'll give you this roll for that jacket,” someone familiar said. It was Jean, crouching down. Armin hadn't heard him walk up. He was holding a roll in his hand, stale, from a few days ago, but still edible. Still fit for a king in this day and age. “I suppose it's a choice of whether you want to die by the cold or by starvation.”

“It's getting warmer every day. Why do you want it?” Armin asked.

Jean shrugged. “An excuse to talk to you again. I told you, you're the only one here close to my age. Well, there's some women, but they give me dark looks.”

“I'm not surprised,” Armin said. If someone hadn't seen a rape by this point in their life, they were lucky. He stopped counting at 356. That was one rape for a day in the year. And there hundreds, maybe thousands more going on. Without a strong law enforcement, man's inner evil raised its demonic head and preyed on the innocent. There were a few that ended in death. It made him feel guilty that he'd only been able to stop two of them. Just two out of those 356.

At the look in Armin's eye, Jean moved back a little, unnerved. “Yeah, neither am I. But I'm harmless. I'd never.”

“I'm not the one you need to convince,” Armin said. He glanced at the roll. “Don't you need to eat as well?”

Jean smiled. “I already ate.”

Armin stared at him. “You're lying.”

“Yes, I am. But is it a trade or not? I don't have all day. Well, I do, but I like to pretend I don't. Makes the day more bearable, right?” He shook the roll in front of Armin's face, who finally gave in and snatched it out of his hand. Then he slipped his jacket off and gave it to Jean, who put it on. It looked better on him anyway. Maybe it was because he was inherently better looking than Armin.

While Armin nibbled on the roll, Jean pretended to rifle in his pants pocket, as if there was so much stuff in there, and then pulled out an elastic band. He held it out. “This is free. Not that your hair doesn't look absolutely wonderful all free and . . . free . . . but I'm sure it can get a little annoying. And if you've gone this long without chopping it off, I assume you like it long.”

Armin took the elastic. Balancing the roll on a bent knee, he quickly put his hair into a ponytail on the middle of the back of his head. “I don't mind it long _or_ short.”

“So why don't you cut it?”

“I will if I have to.” Armin picked the roll up and looked into its insides. “You ever talk to that Butt guy?'

Jean laughed, loud and long. It was a rare thing to hear. “Butt guy. I called him that, didn't I? Funny to hear you say that. His name's actually Marco Bodt and believe me when I tell you he is the Freckle King. I don't think he'll ever look like an old man with all those dots on his face. And he says they're not just isolated to his face either. Might want to check that out sometime.”

“So why you talking to me again?” Armin asked, looking out the window just as two mercs passed by. His eyes lowered and suddenly his appetite had left him.

Jean switched to sitting on his butt, bringing his knees up and resting his arms on them. “You look like you could use a friend.”

Armin smirked wryly. “I'm not exactly good friend material. I let people down.”

“No way, so do I,” Jean said enthusiastically. “We should change that. Let's change that right now.” He scooted over beside Armin and put an arm around his shoulders. “And if we add Marco into the mix, it'll be even better, because he's like the shining beacon of light. The perfect human specimen. He could be Jesus.”

“And how do you propose we do this?” Armin asked.

Jean absentmindedly started playing with Armin's ponytail. “Join the fight. Become mercenaries. It's better than rotting in shelters, right?”

“No,” he said immediately, with an edge to his voice.

Jean blinked. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Armin frowned. “Sorry. I just . . . no. I've been down this road before.”

“If it's because you don't think you're good enough—“

“I know I'm not. But that's not the only reason. There's ways to help people without going out there. Opening shops. Training in a craft to make things for people. Not everyone has to be a soldier to do something good for humanity,” Armin said in a hushed voice.

Jean glanced at Armin's hands, which had half-smashed the roll. “So you want to be a shopkeeper your whole life?”

“Why are you so eager to go out there where _they_ are?” Armin hissed.

Jean's eyes widened and then he growled, “I'm not eager to get myself killed. I plan to live to a long and decrepit age. I'm eager to get some payback. And because I know if I didn't I'd be letting down more people, and didn't you hear me say I'm done with that? I'm done with that.”

Thunder rolled overhead. They were under the edge of the ceiling that was still intact, but it would get cold and wet really fast. Safer to get inside. Jean was right, Armin could die of cold. Armin shrugged out of Jean's arm and got to his feet. He tossed the roll back to Jean. “I'm not going out there. That's all I'm going to say about it. Keep the roll. I'll survive until Sunday.” He made it to the stairwell just as the rain came down. Jean shouted after him, but his voice was swallowed by another crack of thunder.

He spent the rest of the day avoiding _anyone_. Even though people kept to themselves, if he passed anyone in the hallway, he moved as far away as possible and averted his eyes. Talking led nowhere. If Jean wanted to go out and get himself killed with Marco, that was his business. But Armin was going to stay in the safe zones. He was going to help people _live_ and not just survive. He already had plans to visit a smith in the town market, and also a seamstress close by the shelter. Those were important skills to have, and though Armin could straight hand sew something, he couldn't do it well, and there was a hell of a lot left to learn. As for smithing, he could make armor and knives-- _hammers_ and nails to build things. Instead of letting the broken things rule their lives, he would rebuild. He would mold the cities with his own hands.

Already, ideas of city defense rolled through his head like credits at the end of a movie. He lay down on his rock-hard bunk and dreamed of the future he could build. He pictured the walls of Topeka, the half-built sad things that needed soldiers to do their jobs for them. Armin could make them strong. The leaders probably wouldn't listen to a nineteen-year-old man—they'd call him _boy_ \--but he would keep at it until they listened. If the world was going to have any chance, those in charge had to learn to keep open minds and actually listen to the youth. The older ones always seemed to forget who was going to take charge once they were dead, and it sure as hell wasn't the guns they all clung to so tightly.

In the midst of his thinking, his stomach growled, and with it came the regret of returning that roll to Jean. He'd gotten it in a somewhat unbalanced trade, but that roll was his. He'd earned it. And now it was probably boiling in the stomach juices of a guy who would go out and get himself killed by a horde of undead. What a waste. Armin couldn't afford to be wasteful. He'd already thrown away his friendship with Eren. And that had cost him far too much.

Someone cleared their throat. Armin rolled over onto his side, his back to them.

“Um, sorry, just, I have something that's yours is all,” the visitor said. He had the softest voice Armin had ever heard. Already he had a faint idea of who it might be.

Unwillingly, he sat up and looked at his guest. “Jesus,” he breathed.

It was Marco Bodt, the Freckle King. His face went red. “No, it's Marco . . . actually . . . Um, this is yours.” He held out the roll. “Jean was going to eat it, but when he told me what happened, I stole it . . . because it's yours. Jean's already had something to eat today anyway. I don't want him to get fat.”

Armin couldn't help but smile. “He has a long way to go for that.” He took the roll and set it on his lap. “Thanks.”

Marco smiled brightly. “He's actually really a cool guy.”

“So how far down do your spots go?” Armin asked.

That completely threw Marco off. “W-what?”

Armin chuckled. “It's a reference to . . . Ah, never mind.” He tore of a piece of the crusty roll and chewed and forced it down. “You eaten today?”

Marco nodded.

“So you're good friends with Jean already?”

He put his hands behind his back and stared at the ground, face going red, digging his toe into the cement. “He's, uh . . . we just . . . uh, well, yeah. We just get along really well. You know, when you find someone that's so easy to be with? Like you're each a lung, and you can't breath properly, fully, without them. Sorry, that's super cheesy.”

“I know what you mean,” Armin said. “I used to have that with someone as well.”

Marco's eyes glittered. “Yeah? Who?”

Armin clenched his jaw. “I don't really want to talk about it.” He picked at the roll with his thumb and index finger. It was in the past. The past didn't matter. What mattered was the future. Building things. There would be no more deconstructing in Armin's life.

“Of course. Sorry. I don't want to pry. You don't even know me.” Marco made a popping noise with his mouth, trying to ease the awkwardness that had settled in around them. He rocked on his heels to an imaginary beat.

He was kind of adorable, Armin couldn't deny that.

“I'll see you around,” Marco said, stopping. “Unless you don't want to see me. You don't look like you want to talk to anyone.”

“I don't mind,” Armin said. He didn't mind if _Marco_ talked to him.

Marco's face lit up again. “Then I will definitely see you around. Armin, right?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, cool.” Marco waved and then wandered off.

Armin lay back down, holding the roll close to his chest. _Where was I . . . walls . . . adults? I'm an adult. Older adults . . . mercenaries?_ He sighed and took the hair elastic out, slipping it around his wrist. He moved onto his back, letting his hair flow around the hay-stuffed pillow like he was a princess in one of those Disney movies. Sleeping Beauty, maybe. He was tired enough to be her—his mouth gaped open in a yawn just thinking about it. Softly, his eyes fluttered close and he plunged into nightmares.

–

September 23, 2007

BEFORE

For Armin's fifth birthday, Grisha, Carla, and his grandfather had surprised Armin and Eren with a trip to see a Cardinals game—versus the Astros, who ended up losing. It wasn't November 3rd, but then again, baseball season was over by then, so it was an early birthday present. Armin had no idea how baseball worked, and had to rely on the adults for proper reactions to things going on, but it was exhilarating. Not to mention he and Eren had a hot dog eating contest, which Armin would have won if he hadn't accidentally dropped his mostly-eaten hot dog onto the guy sitting in front of him. Armin's grandpa had bought the guy a beer to soothe his frayed nerves. The little scene allowed Eren time to win, stuffing the rest of his in his mouth and then throwing his hands up victoriously.

They both felt sick afterward, eating hot dogs too big for their little bodies—or maybe it was the frozen lemonades, cracker jacks, cotton candy, and french fries they'd had as well. Carla had drowned hers in this stuff called fry sauce she had always eaten as a kid, which grossed them out until they tried it—it was a mix of mayonnaise and ketchup and tasted like literal heaven. Really, Armin swore if you went up to heaven, ripped off a chunk of the crown molding, it would taste like fry sauce. Like baseball stadium fry sauce, anyway.

Also Eren had stolen a sip of his father's beer and Grisha had gotten pissed. So had Eren. He hated it so much he spit it out all over his shirt and had to live with the uncomfortable smelly wetness for the next two hours.

Afterward, because of Grisha, Armin got a picture with one of the players. He hung that picture above his bed, and if anyone asked Armin who his favorite baseball player was, Armin would just say that guy's name. He didn't even know what position the guy had played until years after. 

Besides the hot dog contest, Armin's favorite part had been the song. He didn't know the words really, so it came out something like, “Take me out to ballrooms, take me out to ballgames. Buy me some stuff and and and KER JACKS. I don't care if I ever something OUT. It's root beer root for the CARD CARDS. If they don't win something AIM. For it's ONE TWO THREE strikes you out in BASEBALL GAMES.”

Eren always teased him about the “Card Cards.”

“Hey, I forgot their name,” Armin said after the game the first time Eren teased him about it. They were walking through the parking lot to the two cars. Armin's face got all red and he pulled his grandpa's ball cap down to cover his face. It was too big and covered him easily.

Eren fake-punched him in the arm and pushed his hat up so Armin could see where he was walking. “I'm kidding Armin. It's a better name anyway. Card Cards. They're probably real good at poker. However you play poker.”

Armin smiled at that.

“We should do this every year!” Eren said obnoxiously loud. “Next time _I'll_ spill my hot dog on the person in front of us.” This time he wasn't teasing though, he was grinning, sparkling, _glowing_. He just seemed so happy at the thought of dropping his half-eaten hot dog on some random unsuspecting stranger.

Their parents called for them to slow down. They both broke into a mad dash for the car, seeing who could get there first. Eren won and started climbing on top of the car. Armin stayed on the ground. “Our parents will get mad.” They had long since called called each other's guardians “our parents.” They spent enough time together. Armin sometimes called Carla “Mom” and she just went with it, while Eren decided one day to always call Armin's grandfather “Grandpa.” They were a weird family, but Armin wouldn't trade them for anything else. It only got better when Mikasa joined in.

“Come on, Armin. They're taking forever anyway,” Eren said. He reached down a hand. Armin hesitated, but Eren's huge green eyes were too zealous, too persuasive, and Armin took it, sitting up near the sun roof.

When the parents got close enough, Carla called, “Get down Eren! You're going to hurt yourself!”

“See!” Armin insisted.

Eren stuck out his tongue. “Aww whatever.”

They slid down and Carla gave them a little scolding. Armin's grandpa just winked at them. Grisha didn't much care.

“I'll see you tomorrow at school!” Eren promised. He flicked Armin's hat. “It's show-and-tell and I'm bringing Baxter!” Baxter being Eren's huge stuffed lion that perched on the end of his bed. “And brownies for the snack. My mom's brownies!” AKA: the greatest brownies ever to exist in the entirety of the universe. One bite was enough to cast a spell on a man for life. And Carla had done that plenty of times. According to legend, that's how Grisha fell for her in the first place, and then everything was even better after that.

Armin wrapped his arms around Eren in a hug. “See you tomorrow.”

With a laugh, Eren said, “And next year, more Card Cards!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to anyone who knows what Armin was referencing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armin starts training in smithing, the two merc units come across a zombie horde, Armin and Eren plan for the wedding of Kirk and Spock, and Eren gets a new leg.

April 7, 2022

THE NEW TRIO

After asking several people for directions, Armin finally found the blacksmith. It was dark, with a low ceiling, lit only by the fire at the far end of the room. It was empty when he walked in, and the thick exterior walls blocked out almost all sound from outside, so it was eerily quiet. He walked over to the tiny counter separating the “store” from the workshop, and rested his arms on it. Most stores had bells to ring in case the owner wasn't there, but the counter was a bare slap of nicked wood. He tapped his knuckles against it.

“Hello?” he called out softly. Something in the place absorbed the sound, so he had to say it again louder.

At the end of the room, there was a noise, and then a woman appeared from another room, black pigtails held together in a Princess Jasmine way, resting on her torso, reaching a little past her waist. Surely that had to be a hazard when working so closely with hot metal and fire. She wiped some black stuff on her cheek, but instead of getting rid of it, it only spread. The woman meandered her way through all the shit on the ground—boxes of metal components, leather components, and other bits and pieces—and came up behind the counter.

“Welcome to Mina's Workshop. My name's Mina. I can make you anything as long as you can provide more valuable materials and can pay the price.” 

She stuck out a half-bandaged hand and Armin shook it, getting some of that black soot on his hand. He wiped it on his shirt. “How much does training cost?”

Mina blinked. “Training? Now there's something no one's asked me before.” She put a fist on a hip. “Smithing is too dirty for most folks. They prefer someone else to do it for them. But I'm happy to teach. Most people don't get the chance for proper training. I had to teach myself.” She started playing with a pigtail. “That doesn't mean I'm no good, of course. I'm the best smith in two hundred miles. You got the goods to pay for it?”

“I don't know. What are you asking?” he asked.

She looked him over carefully through slightly narrowed eyes. “How about you help me sell my wares around town, and we'll call that good. Can you do that? I have no one to help me; I'm all on my own. Hard to work and rest and sell stuff and actually make a decent living when it's just me by myself.” She held out a hand again. “So is it a deal?”

That was a better deal than he'd been expecting, so yes, he took her hand and shook it firmly. “It's a deal.”

“Good. You got time now? You look like you have time now. No one really has anywhere to be nowadays except shopkeepers and mercs.” She motioned for him to follow her deeper into the workshop and into the room at the back. There was a rickety old staircase leading up probably to her sleeping quarters. The room itself was the office, papers everywhere, most of them scribbled with illegible nonsense. She scooted some papers carelessly to the side and grabbed a blank sheet and a pencil. Settling into the chair, she said, “Right. So the basics. You need to know the basics first off.”

Armin stood behind her, kind of hovering.

Her hand paused over the paper and then she looked up. “You can sit down. Chair over there.”

It was covered in even more papers. _God Almighty,_ Armin thought. _What is all this shit?_ He gathered them into a pile and set them on the floor. The chair squealed as he dragged it across the ground and set it right beside her.

She talked for hours. By the end Armin wasn't sure what life was and if everything he saw was one big hallucination. She sent him out with some blades to sell, and a warning that if he stole them she'd punt his ass to Tibet and then kill him with one of her own weapons. His promises meant nothing to her yet, but at least he knew he'd keep them. He'd sell those knives or die trying. Good blades were hard to come by. Old rusty kitchen knives didn't exactly do the trick when it came to the undead.

But he'd do it tomorrow, because his mind was blurry from the information overload. He needed some time to sort it all out, categorize it like he did with everything.

Of course, Jean had other ideas, waiting for him at the entrance to the shelter. Armin tried to walk past hurriedly, pretending he hadn't seen him. But Jean caught up and he poked him on the shoulder. “Been out and about? “ His eye glanced down at the bag Armin had on his shoulder. “Are those knives?”

“If I'm going to be of any use in this world, I have to pick up some skills. So I'm training at the blacksmith's,” he said. “This is just a part of the agreement. I need to go to sleep.”

“A smith would be a very good asset in a merc unit,” Jean said. “Not only would it be cheaper, but guns can only go so far. When you're in close quarters, hand to hand combat is the only way.” He reached a hand in and took out a serrated blade with a thick black grip. For a moment he just moved it around, seeing it how felt in his hand, and how it moved through the air. “This is a nice blade. Probably too expensive for a lowlife like me.” He flipped the knife up, grabbed it lightly by the blade and offered it to Armin.

He took it and carefully set it back in the bag. “And you have so much experience with knives why? You killed any zombies?” Armin asked with more irritation than he meant. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I'm just tired.” He readjusted the bag. “I appreciate the offer, I do, but I'm not going to become a mercenary, Jean. Or else I would already be one. I would have been one a long time ago.”

Jean glanced from one eye to the next. “The sooner the zombies are all killed, the faster we can start rebuilding. If you try to rebuild now, you risk it being all shattered when the zombies come. They will come. The status quo can't stay the way it is, not for forever. Apocalypses are meant to destroy the world. All of it. Not just half of it.” He half-grinned. “So we're going to apocalypse the zombies like the bastards they are.”

Armin furrowed his brows. “That doesn't make sense.”

“Bear with me,” Jean sighed. “Look, Armin, you may not be the toughest guy, but you're smart. You'd be perfect.”

“Marco's smart,” Armin pointed out.

“Not to diss Marco, but he's not as smart as you,” Jean said. “He's more of a brawny guy. A brawny teddy bear.”

Armin glanced down the hallway towards his living quarters and then back at Jean. “I have other things I need to do. Being a soldier is what _you_ want. Not me. Good night, Jean.”

As he walked away, he heard Jean call after him, “I was like you once, too, Armin. Determined to lead a safe life away from the zombies, but then they came to Chicago and I realized that nowhere is really safe from them. So I'm going to kill them. And _make_ it safe.”

 _You almost sound like Eren_. Despite himself, Armin stopped. He looked over his shoulder. “I'm not staying in the cities because I want to feel safe. You're right, safety is a lie. And no matter how many zombies I would kill if I was a merc, it wouldn't make a dent in the undead population. At least here I can make some sort of impact on actual people.”

Jean shrugged. “You know what, fine. Fine. Stay here. Rebuild society. Make it perfect. Make it good. I'll be trying to keep you alive while you do it.” He waved and then sauntered off back to the main room, Armin staring after him.

He had had that conversation with Eren so many times. Eren and Jean worked on a system of revenge to some degree. Armin's system was wholly supported by the desire to help people. How was it at all wrong to want that?

-

 

August 14, 2025

THREE PLUS THREE

Annie's unit had received orders to raid a supply dump in Hughes County just outside of Pierre that was overrun by zombies and get everything they could back to Sioux Falls. It was close and perfect for their joint mission. With six people, it would probably take just a couple hours once they got there. They followed behind the pick-up truck as it grumbled on the pavement thirty miles from Pierre towards their destination. 

Armin reclined his seat a little and looked up at the darkening sky, at the stars that were starting to poke through the atmosphere—and would soon be hidden by the approaching storm front. Behind him, Marco was humming some One Direction song. It spread to Jean, who subconsciously started humming along with him even though he hated One Direction. When he finally realized, he spat, “Shit, no I hate that song.” Eyes still on the road, he threw a hand in Marco's general direction to punch his arm. Marco laughed and snatched the hand in his own. Almost organically, Jean stopped flailing and his fingers wound themselves with Marco's. They moved their hands to the center console between the seats so it was more comfortable.

“You two should get married,” Armin said.

“What?” Jean asked in surprise, jerking the wheel. They all braced themselves as the jeep bounced off-road. Quickly Jean put them back. From ahead, they could see Reiner turn and look around at them, probably wondering what the hell they were doing.

“I'm serious,” Armin said.

Marco looked down at their hands. His thumb started running along a one-inch section of Jean's skin. The hairs on Jean's hand stood up like it was cold.

Armin shrugged. “Just a thought.”

The truck ahead slowed to a stop, the lights turning off. Jean and Marco's hands broke loose. Jean downshifted and came to a stop a few feet away, turning their lights off as well. Armin watched the others in the truck—they were talking with each other. Then one of them grabbed a gun and climbed through the hole between the cab and the crowded bed. It was Berthold. He got on one knee and held his gun up, turning on the night vision and sweeping the area.

Quietly, Armin got to his feet and leaned out of the Jeep, wrapping an arm around the frame to keep himself up. Down below, his hand wiggled and a second later Marco had set the binoculars in it. Armin lifted it to his eyes and scanned the area along with Berthold. Someone must have seen something, or maybe they had RADAR in their truck, something Armin's unit hadn't been gifted as of yet. It could have detected movement of a nearby horde.

In the Jeep, Marco and Jean got their guns ready just in case. And ahead in the truck, Annie climbed out onto the bed as well. She whispered something to Berthold and then crawled over the supplies to the back of the bed, silently hopping over and onto the asphalt. Instead of going to Jean, the unit leader, she rounded to Armin's side and pulled herself up next to him. “Detected movement to the northwest. Probable horde.” She glanced at Jean and Marco. “We're going keep moving forward with lights off at a slow pace. What do you say?”

“Sounds reasonable,” Jean murmured.

Annie nodded once and then went back to the truck. She made a hand movement to Berthold, and then the truck started inching forward. Once they were a good distance away, Jean followed. Armin remained standing up, holding the binoculars and directing them to the northwest. At the moment, he couldn't see much, but the darkening sky didn't help much. He let the binoculars fall, hanging from his neck, and stuck a hand back towards Marco, making the hand signal for night vision. He felt the scope in his hand and attached it to his rifle. Just like Berthold, he lifted it and sought out the zombies. Still there was nothing. Just empty flat land.

The wind started to pick up as the storm grew closer. Armin glanced over to his left, at the angry storm clouds moving in. There was a distant flash of lightning. They had to roof up soon or they'd be soaked to the bone. Armin glanced at his watch: 8:09 He timed it at 8:25, when the storm would hit. If there _was_ a horde out there, hopefully they wouldn't hit when the rain did.

Again he moved his scope to the northeast. _Still nothing—no wait._ He moved his scope back to a patch of otherwise flat unremarkable land. It wasn't the wind blowing any foliage. He'd seen enough zombies to know that. And they were headed towards the road. He made the hand sign to Jean and Marco.

Berthold had seen it too, his gun pointed in the very same direction. In the front of the cab, Annie and Reiner were getting their own rifles ready.

If they were going to fight the horde, they had to find a place with even the tiniest of cover. There was a small building north of the road about five hundred yards ahead. If they kept going they'd make it in a minute. Then they could park and prepare for a proper defense. The building might even have some supplies, though it was doubtful considering its proximity to the road. Hundreds of merc units could have picked it over.

Armin lowered his rifle and swung himself down. “There's a building ahead. We should stop there.” 

He handed Jean the binoculars, and when Jean spotted it he nodded. “Go tell them.”

“Right.” Armin jumped to the ground and then jogged to catch the moving pickup. He caught the top of the tailgate and heaved himself up and into the bed. Then he crouch-walked past Berthold, over supplies, and to the window of the cab. “We're heading to that building over there,” Armin said, pointing through the windshield to the basic shack.

“We were thinking the same thing,” Reiner said with a grin.

Armin glanced at Annie and then moved himself to the side of the bed near Berthold and some boxes of ammo, one hand resting on the edge, the other curling around the barrel of his rifle as he set it on the floor of the bed by the butt. Once the truck got close enough, Annie turned into the field. Armin held on tighter to keep from being jostled too much. Behind, Jean and Marco turned as well.

The two vehicles came to a stop and everyone got out, coming to a conference circle just outside the door of the building. Everyone but Berthold and Armin had a melee weapon now strapped to their back. Annie and Jean stood on opposite sides, giving each other an intense and ridiculous stare down, while the rest of their units rolled their eyes because they didn't have time for this. But eventually they got to it. Once Jean's mouth opened to speak, Annie started _actually_ speaking.

“Who's best at sharpshooting?” she asked.

Jean slapped Marco on the back.

Annie looked at her two comrades, eyes finally resting on Berthold. “Berthold, get on the roof. And you,” she said, looking at Marco. “Unless you disagree. Jean.”

“I agree,” Jean said, lifting his chin. “Put some ponchos on.”

At his command, Marco and Berthold took off towards their vehicles, each pulling a poncho from the supplies and draping it over their bodies. Together they headed up the ladder to the shallow-angled roof. Armin unlocked the scope from his rifle and tossed it up to Marco.

“We should get the roof on the Jeep,” Armin suggested. “That storm will be here soon.” His watch said 8:15, and his previous guess still stood. “And after get inside the building, block the door and shoot them through the windows.”

Annie half-smiled. “A classic strategy.”

While Annie and Reiner moved some ammo into the building, Jean and Armin put the roof on the Jeep, and covered the open doors with a tarp. They moved their own ammo into the building as well—Armin made sure to grab his red ax too. The three of them knocked some holes in the boarded windows, slits big enough for their guns. The rest of the place was empty, so they used the ammo boxes to block the door, and then knelt down, guns raised, awaiting the zombie horde. Through the scope, Armin could see they were only about seven hundred yards away. They'd get there when the storm did.

As if the storm knew Armin's thoughts, it crackled in the distance. It was 8:19. Some rainy mist had already started sprinkling down, gathering on the edge of the rifle's barrel. Armin brought it in and wiped it on his shirt. He would put it back out when the zombies got within range. The others had the same idea.

“Hey,” Armin said quietly to Annie after a moment. “Where you from?”

Annie stared at him for a second and then looked down at her rifle. “Nowhere now. The place I was born is gone. Wiped from the map. I don't have a home anymore. Unless I can count that damned truck out there. And you're from St. Louis.”

Armin's eyebrows raised. “How did you know?”

“I've met a lot of people from there. They got a look different from everyone else,” she said. “A lot of the ones who survived became mercs. It makes sense, I suppose. Probably the same in the other origin points around the world.” Annie tapped her gun on the ground a few times, watching the dust jump up from the wooden floor.

“She was born in a small Virginia town with me,” Reiner said. “Nothing special.”

From the other side of Annie, Jean said in a hushed voice, “Six hundred yards.”

Armin looked through his scope again to double check Jean's estimation. Then he twisted his body and rested back against the wall. “Home doesn't have to be a place. It can be a person.”

“I assume you're talking from personal experience,” she said.

Jean glanced over at Armin.

It took a few seconds to be able to say anything, and when he did it came out strained. “Yeah. Yeah my home is far away. I don't know where. I don't think I'll ever get back to it, honestly.”

“Then you should find a new one,” Annie said. “Don't linger on things you can't have.”

Armin crinkled his forehead and stared down at nothing in particular. There was only one thing he couldn't just forget like that. All those years of baseball and Kinder Eggs and Star Trek and LEGO cities would always live right in the center of his heart, never to be evicted. Eren's face showed most prominently in his mind every single day. It was easier to ignore it some days, like today, but sometimes it was all he could see. 

And Jean knew very well sometimes at night Armin would pitifully cry himself to sleep because everything was a memory and nothing was real and present anymore. That space beside him when he slept was empty. It'd been filled by several people over the years, but never for very long. Never as wonderful as when it was Eren that lay beside Armin. That held Armin. That made love to Armin. He hadn't made love since Eren—had sex, yes, but there was no love.

Eren would always be Armin's home unless by a miracle Armin found a new one in someone just as special.

“You don't always get to choose your home,” Armin said. He moved back around to look out the window. The horde was four hundred yards away now. The time was 8:24. The thunder roared right overhead, followed by grey rain. Armin adjusted the sights on his rifle for the weather and waited for the signal to fire.

It was one of the snipers who fired first, their bullet zipping right into the head of a zombie and ripping its head off its shoulders. They all unloaded then, aiming for the head or the neck, their rose-infused bullets sending coursing pain through the bodies of the undead. Those unscathed broke into a wild run towards the building, screeching in a way that made Armin picture their lungs being bloodily grated away to nothing but a pile of red fleshy shavings.

They pulled their rifles in when the zombies got close, carefully firing through the slit at a distance. All the bodies slammed into the walls. Zombie nails scratched at the wood, desperately seeking the warm untainted blood of the humans inside.. Up on the roof Marco and Berthold were still firing away, popping zombies off left and right.

“Forty!” Marco called from up top.

Armin switched out his rifle in favor of the ax and moved to the door the zombies had nearly busted through. On the other side Jean joined him, baseball bat in hand. They would cover the door for as long as they could while Annie and Reiner continued firing out the windows. Even though Armin had been in this kind of situation many times over, it still made his body feel sick and clammy. If one little thing went wrong, he'd be bitten, and in forty five minutes, everything that made him Armin would be gone. Jean would kill him before that happened, of course. They had all made that pact.

“You ready?” Jean shouted over the din of zombie shrieks, turbulent rain, and the occasional ring of thunder.

 _I'm never ready,_ Armin thought.

A big board of wood flew in past them, bouncing on the floor in the center of the building. A zombie claw followed it that Armin immediately sliced off. When the rest of the body came, Armin stuck his ax in the stomach, and when the zombie bent over, Jean lopped its head off with a strong swing of the bat. They kept the zombies choked up there, the corpses piling up in the half-broken door and on top of the ammo boxes.

On the other side of the building, the zombies broke through one of the windows. Annie quickly put her rifle away and just barely smacked a zombie with her machete before it could sink its teeth into her. Reiner came to join her with his pipe.

At the door, the zombies finally broke through, climbing over the corpses aggressively. Now they were streaming in from two points, the humans never stopping to rest for even a fraction of a second. They had to keep swinging, keep hitting zombie flesh.

Armin got caught in a frenzy, his body continually twisted, arm swinging, and he was shouting too but he didn’t realize it until the last zombie fell dead at his feet and there was only the sound of the storm and his shouting. He forced his mouth closed and then dropped his ax, letting it sink into a zombie corpse.

“You okay?” Jean asked, putting his hand on Armin's shoulder. He nodded so Jean ran outside, checking to make sure the coast was clear, and then yelling, “Marco! Marco! Are you all right?”

A zombie fell down from the rooftop, presumably kicked over, followed by an affirmative, “We're all good up here.”

Jean ran back inside to get out of the rain, his clothes and hair dusted with moisture and also zombie blood. He looked over at Annie and Reiner who were checking each other for any bite wounds.

Armin lowered himself onto the ground and rested his head back against the wooden wall, his knees bent. “I say we wait out the storm here. If there are more out there while we're driving, we won't stand a chance.”

There was a noise coming from outside the house. Armin went to grab for his ax, but it was just Marco and Berthold going down the ladder—they came in a few seconds later. Marco threw the hood of his poncho off. “Whoo. Next time you can volunteer for sniper duty, Jean,” Marco said with a grin.

Jean looked at him like he was the eighth wonder of the world. And then suddenly his hands were on the sides of Marco's face and he was kissing him. Everyone just watched, Reiner and Armin with smiles on their faces. When Jean pulled away he stared at Marco with wide eyes, and Marco just smiled and booped his nose.

“You guys really should get married,” Armin said again.

“Better late than never right?” Reiner said with more zeal than he should have had about two strangers and their love life.

Annie broke in, her voice a little irritated. “While you're all obsessed with your love fest, I'll be watching to make sure no zombies creep up on us. Sorry to say, but they're not interested in kissing or having sex.”

“If they were, they'd be real biters,” Reiner joked and Berthold groaned.

Armin forced himself to his feet and he went over to his window again. “I'll watch with you,” he said.

Annie glanced over at him and tried to hide a smile but failed. “Eyes on the landscape.”

“I know,” he said. As he looked through the scope, he ventured into possibly lethal territory. “You ever think about getting married?”

“No,” she said easily.

“Oh. Why not?”

Her finger tightened on the trigger guard. “None of your damn business.”

“Sorry,” he said quickly. It would take more than one run-in with a zombie horde to get Annie to feel like opening up to Armin. And she was more hard-skinned than most people Armin met. Even Reiner and Berthold probably had a hard time of having a heart-to-heart with her, even if they had known each other since they were little kids. But Armin was determined. Not because he was nosy or he liked the challenge, but because he honestly wanted to know what Annie was feeling. He wanted to get to know her. To be her friend. 

“Stop staring,” she grumbled.

Armin snapped his eyes back to his scope and didn't think about it anymore for the rest of the day.

-

December 6, 2009

BEFORE

Since Armin had known Eren, he'd slept over at the Jaeger house the night of December 5th. They'd put their shoes out for St. Nicholas, and in the morning find them filled with all kinds of treats. Of course they knew there was no St. Nicholas, both having found out in different ways, but their guardians didn't know that, so they pretended they believed in the creepy old guy who broke into people's houses for their guardians' sakes. Plus, they were afraid if they disclosed their knowledge, there would be no more treats in their shoes.

They sat on the floor of the great room, right next to the Christmas tree, sorting through the treats and categorizing them: chocolate candy, fruity candy, games, stickers, and coins. Every year they got one more quarter, one quarter for every year they had lived on Earth. This year they had seven quarters each, practically a fortune. They usually spent it on more candy at the gas station.

Armin especially loved this year because he got more chocolate candy than fruity. Not that fruity candy wasn't amazing, but nothing could quite compare to the richness and beauty that was chocolate. And it wasn't just American waxy chocolate. No, it was the chocolate of the German gods. And they even received Kinder Eggs, sent from Eren's grandparents in Germany. Armin carefully peeled off the foil of his first egg and then held the chocolate specimen in his open palm, just basking in its glory. He made a little crack, like it was a real egg, and let the toy fall into his lap.

Eating the egg was a religious experience. He broke off tiny pieces and set them on his tongue, letting them melt a little so the flavor could soak into his tongue. 

Eren wasn't nearly as reverent when it came to the eggs. He ripped that foil off, broke the egg open, pulled the toy out and then just jammed the whole egg into his mouth. It took a lot of wrestling and strain to finally break the egg down into a manageable enough size. But he always swallowed chunks much too big to be safe. At least he hadn't choked ever, but there was always the first time.

“Hey look!” Eren said with a mouth full of chocolate, holding up one of the stickers he'd gotten. It was a chibi Mr. Spock, making his classic contemplative raised eyebrow face. He held up another one, a chibi of Kirk with a torn shirt. Of course.

“We should watch one!” Armin declared. He popped another piece of chocolate onto his tongue and then wandered over to the case of DVDs. They had the entire three seasons of the original Star Trek. He picked a random season and episode—Carla came over to help him put it in. Then Armin and Eren curled up on the couch beside each other, their presents on either side of them, and started watching “Friday's Child.” It just happened to be Carla's favorite episode so she sat down and watched with them.

Grisha walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

“Hon, come watch!” Carla invited, holding her arms up as if to embrace him when he came over.

He peeked over at the television and then turned back to the fridge. “I have some work to do. Maybe later.”

“Grisha,” Carla said with a sigh, “it's St. Nicholas' Day. Come on.”

“Later, Carla,” he said and removed a cold hot dog from the fridge. He ripped off a chunk with his teeth and then disappeared back into the basement.

From her place in the armchair, Carla watched him, a disappointed smile on her face. When she caught the boys watching, she smiled widely and turned back to the television, curling her legs underneath her. Armin picked up one of his Kinder Eggs and walked over to her, offering the egg. Carla's eyes got really big and she gently took the egg from him. Following Armin's lead, Eren took one of his eggs and brought it over as well. Something sparkled in the corners of her eyes, but she wiped it away.

“Thank you,” she said and started unwrapping one.

The boys took their place on the couch again and began putting together their first toys, occasionally glancing up at the tv.

“Hey, look at this!” Eren said excitedly, showing Armin his snow-plow with a blade that could move up and down. He set it on the couch, and with the noise of a grumbling engine escaping his lips, moved it towards Armin's feet. Armin hurriedly moved his feet out of the way, but Eren kept on going anyway, onto his legs, and then up his torso up to his face, and Armin was laughing too hard to fend him off.

“What'd you get, Mom?” Eren asked when they'd calmed down.

“Um,” Carla said, looking down at the toy on her lap. She switched it with half of the chocolate egg and popped open the plastic sphere encasing it. The toy was made of three parts. She unfolded the instructions and read it. “I think it's a turtle whose head goes up and down.” They watched her snap the shell on, and the movable head and then she showed it to them with a big smile. “You want it?”

“Eren likes turtles more than I do,” Armin said.

She tossed it over and Eren put the turtle on his snow-plow. “The insane turtle man ravages the snowy city streets of St. Louis! AHHHHHH!!!” And once again he attacked Armin with truck. This time Armin was ready, using his toy—a samurai with two moveable swords—to fight off the attack from Turtle Man. They got so into the battle, both of them fell onto the floor. The both of them started laughing maniacally.

The battle ended with a truce, a blending of two families to keep the peace. Turtle Man and Samurai married each other, with the sticker of Mister Spock presiding over the ceremony. Carla threw the “flowers”--pieces of Kinder Egg wrapping—after the “I do”s and the marital kiss, and by that time Armin and Eren had missed most of the Star Trek episode so they started reenacting their own episode with Turtle Man, Spock, Kirk, and Samurai while Carla watched.

“You two should write for a Star Trek series,” she said.

“The new movies!” Eren said.

“Maybe we can _be_ in them!” Armin exclaimed.

“Oh! What if Turtle Man and Samurai get to be in it?” Eren said with the most dramatic shocked face ever. “That would be amazing!”

Armin started laughing again. “They'll be the bad guys fighting against Starfleet and powered by the love of their vows!”

“Yeah! Whatever a vow is!” Eren said, fist pumping the air.

Carla watched them with a smile. She unwrapped her second egg, broke it into two pieces and extended it to the boys. “Turtle Man and Samurai give this to you in thanks for planning their wedding. They couldn't have done it without you.”

“Maybe we should be wedding planners!” Armin said. They held up their eggs and tapped them together in a toast.

“KIRK AND SPOCK'S WEDDING!” Eren shouted before he stuffed the egg in his mouth.

And Armin was so excited he did the same thing with his egg. It just felt right. Through a mouthful of chocolate, he said joyfully, “THE GREATEST WEDDING THE UNIVERSE WILL EVER SEE!”

-

January 2, 2017

THE MIDDLE

They put it on before Eren woke up. He wouldn't have wanted it, but this way they had a greater chance of him keeping it willingly. Mikasa and Armin didn't want to force anything, but they would if they had to. Cripples didn't last long in this world. And Eren meant more to them than anyone else. They were willing to pay the price to see him not just walk again, but move like he had an organic leg. The cutting edge prosthetic technology didn't come cheap.

When Eren awoke he just lay there in silence, eyes flitting around, taking in every black speck on the patterned white ceiling tiles. Every time a light flickered his mouth twitched, and he blinked as if startled. Armin put his hand on the prosthetic leg, and even though Eren couldn't feel it, his body stiffened. The upper half of his leg wiggled, and the prosthesis attached to it. He let out a really long breath. One of his hands tried to choke his pant leg, but Mikasa pried his fingers off and instead let Eren squeeze her fingers, even though she was losing blood circulation.

“Where is he?” Eren croaked. He two looked at each other in confusion. Louder, Eren repeated, “ _Where is he?_ Where is my dad?”

Armin wished he hadn't been cognizant when they brought him in. That he hadn't seen Grisha and gotten his hopes up. The past was going to repeat. Eren would have to deal with his father's abandonment once more, but instead of being sad, there'd only be a white hot-anger. It was the emotion that came easiest to Eren nowadays. Unfortunately. Armin wished there was any way he could make Eren push the anger away, to try and find a better way to handle things. But Eren was stubborn, putting it mildly.

“He's . . . gone,” Mikasa said.

Eren held her hand tighter. It had to hurt, but Mikasa made no acknowledgment of it, not even the tiniest glimmer of pain in her eyes, or a muscle twitch. “Where?”

“We don't know,” Mikasa said, tears clinging to the corners of her eyes. “He's not coming back, Eren.”

“Fuck,” Eren breathed. “Fuck. And what’s this fucking thing on my leg?” He sat up and wiggled it again, watching the flesh move, and the prosthesis' delayed movement with it.

“That's . . . your new leg, Eren,” Armin answered this time.

Eren's jaw clenched. “And what did it cost? Prostheses don't grow on trees.” His tongue came out and licked the corners of his mouth. His breathing grew heavier. “Did you promise them the cripple's dead body? Because he won't last very long? They'll have payment soon. Did you promise me to one of those twisted research groups? So they can pull apart my body like some kind of insect and play with all my parts? Or maybe to one of those cannibalistic covens? No, no, to the police, so they can feed me to their dogs.” His teeth bared and he glared at Armin, who forced himself to not shy away. “Why bother? Why not just kill me now and give me as a gift? You're always talking about helping society, aren't you, Armin?”

Armin stared at him, wide-eyed and petrified.

“Eren,” Mikasa growled, pulled her hand out of his. “Leave him alone.”

Eren's bottom lip trembled and then slowly he looked back at his artificial leg, how the silver-sheen taupe gleamed in the dim yellow light. Mostly he looked at Armin's hand still resting on it, gripping tight now from fear and a touch of guilt. Eren lay his hand on top of it.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled. “Sorry.”

“There's nothing to apologize for,” Armin said in a low voice. Expertly, his fingers finangled their way into interlocking with Eren's. “And you're not going to die. I won't let you.”

Eren looked up. “I can't be a mercenary with one leg.”

“You have two legs, Eren,” Mikasa said firmly. “The other one's a different color, but it's yours. It just has some catching up to do.”

“You'll be just like you were,” Armin said. “Even better. Gunshots, knives, teeth . . . they won't hurt. They won't hinder you.”

That made Eren chuckle darkly. “Why are you saying that, Armin? You don't want me to be a merc now, do you? Changing your mind?”

“No,” he said. “But you do.”

Eren moved his hand up to touch the leg. He inhaled sharply at the cold temperature. “Help me up.”

It probably wasn't wise to try so soon, but Armin and Mikasa knew better than to deny him this right now. They each held an arm as Eren moved his legs over the side of the bed and lightly touched his feet to the floor. With a slow inhale, he put his weight on them and moved himself up. As soon as the brunt of his weight pressed down on the junction of flesh and plastic, he let out a cry and almost collapsed, but Armin and Mikasa held him up. He hung there by his armpits limply. “Help me,” he said again, teeth gnashing. They moved with him as he righted himself. This time he bit down on his lip as the pain came, but his body didn't falter. His hands came up, clutching at both of their shirts.

They all stood together, waiting for Eren's breath to calm, waiting for him to make the next move. Instead of trying to walk, he asked, “What did you pay for this?”

Mikasa and Armin looked at each other, a certain darkness swirling in their eyes. They hadn't paid yet. No, they still had it in their near future. Tonight, tomorrow . . . whenever the others came for them. Eren couldn't know. So they lied.

“Our hair,” Mikasa said. “We have to cut it off.”

“That's it?” Eren asked in confusion.

“For some people that's everything,” Armin said, going along with her, though it pained him to lie to Eren with every syllable.

“But I like your hair like that,” Eren said. “Just above your shoulders. Both of you.”

“It's just hair. It'll grow back,” Mikasa said. She hadn't broken eye contact with Armin. “What's important now is helping you with your new leg. The clinic won't let us stay after today. You have to be able to walk out tomorrow.”

There was a long silence before Eren whispered, “Okay . . . Let's get going then.”

He fell down twelve times in that room, even with the two there to support him. And he cursed a lot. Sometimes at them, but they knew he didn't mean it. They never said a word, just let him have his moments, and continued holding him when he needed them. The hallway was harder, because there was traffic and an audience. No one gave two shits about Eren and his fake leg, but he was humiliated, his face turning a savage shade of red-pink. When they finally got outside into the humid dank air, he pushed them away, stood on his own. He thought that after those twenty minutes getting out he'd be set, but no. He took one step and he was down. They let him stay there on the ground. And he sat there a long time.

“Where do we go?” Armin finally asked.

“The closest training station,” Eren said immediately.

Armin frowned. “Eren . . . you're in no shape to be going there so soon. Once you can handle your leg better, then you can. Or they'll just turn you away.”

“Not us?” Eren asked with a bitter laugh.

But Armin said nothing. He turned away and folded his arms. This was something he didn't want to get into, not now. Not when they had more important things to worry about. Thinking about separating from Eren was too painful. It probably wasn't wise, procrastinating—how that would make him feel, how he would feel after he moved on, and where he'd go. He felt guilty as hell for how glad he was Eren had lost his leg, because it just meant the universe had prolonged the time they had before the day of separation. And he felt even worse about how selfishly happy it made him knowing he would be there helping Eren through this, that it would make their bond even closer than it already was.

“Well I'm not going back to the fucking shelter,” Eren said. “Never again. Those places are for people who can't take care of themselves. I can take care of myself.”

“Not at the moment, you can't,” Mikasa said. “Not until you learn how to live with your new leg. So we're going to focus on that.”

Eren touched the prosthesis again, rubbing his fingers over the plastic. “And then right after . . .”

“Yes,” Mikasa said. “Where you go, I go, Eren.”

Armin closed his eyes for a few seconds, and then turned back around, grabbing Eren and pulling him back to his feet. Eren tried to lock eyes with him, but Armin couldn't look at him. “Let's find shelter of _some_ kind. And then I'll go find some food.”

They chose a spot in an alleyway next to an old Dumpster. Mikasa pulled Armin aside, farther into the darkness. “We're not leaving Eren alone. So when they come, one of us goes at a time, okay?”

“I agree,” Armin said. 

He tried to walk back to Eren, but Mikasa stopped him. She stared at him intensely. “We can't let him know. When we get back, don't let anything show. Nothing.”

“I know,” he said, pushing her off. “I know.”

They came at around midnight, wearing dark cloaks around their bodies to slip through the streets unnoticed by the curfew police. Armin was waiting for them at a predetermined meeting point near the clinic. He pulled his jacket tighter around his body even though it wasn't cold at all. Soon it would be gone. It felt safer, knowing it was wrapped tightly around his body. The strangers looked down at him like a meal, and he forced himself not to shake as one of them put a hand on his back and escorted him to their living quarters. The whole while there, only one thought image and thought ran through Armin's head: _Eren. Eren. This is for Eren._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans for a game, camping in backyards, lots of zombies, and Jesus Christ.

April 25, 2022

THE NEW TRIO

The news came in around noon: Albuquerque had fallen. Someone broke down crying in Armin's room. He felt terrible, but the crying annoyed him. So he left. He wandered the streets a little and wound up at Mina's workshop. She hadn't heard the news yet, and it surprised him she just shrugged and bid all the dead rest peacefully—she called the undead just dead. Those people weren't themselves, and their souls had drifted off to either the abyss or the afterlife, leaving their bodies behind to be taken by some disease. Armin hadn't met many people who thought that way. Plus, she knew no one in the New Mexico town.

Actually, she didn't know anyone but Armin and a few regulars.

Armin sat on a stool and spun from side to side. “Do you ever get lonely?”

The woman looked up from where she was drawing out sketches for a new blade. Her eyes stayed on him for a moment and then she looked back down and continued sketching. She could draw straight lines without a hard edge to draw against. “Sometimes. But mostly it's been so long since I've had real human contact that lonely stopped being lonely and now it's just . . . what my life is. But there are days . . . when it really hits.” Her shoulders curved forward and she made an irritated noise. The pencil flipped in her hand and she erased a mistake.

Armin got off the stool and stood on the other side of the table. “What are you drawing?”

“Just a design for a new knife. To test my rose metal hypothesis with. You know, what I was talking about the other day?” she said distractedly and made a new line in place of the mistake. The pencil stayed at the end, digging into the paper.

“Should I get some rose oil soon, then?” Armin asked.

Mina stood up straight and put her arms back to stretch her back. “Yeah. Yeah. Have it ready for . . . two days from now. Whatever day that is.”

“Wednesday,” Armin said lightly.

“Yeah. Wednesday. Do you have the brass knuckles still? To trade for it?” she asked. “He . . . was the one who wanted brass knuckles right? Or was that the leather vendor?” Her eyes went in and out of focus and her hands came down onto the table to keep her steady.

Armin put a hand on her arm. “You need to sleep.”

She pushed his hand away. The pencil eraser tapped against the paper. “Okay. How's your sewing coming?”

“Good. Moblit's a good teacher,” Armin said. “But he'll be going off to the join the mercs soon. Apparently an old friend is in the nearby training station. Zoe or something. So he'll be going to kill zombies with her.” His forehead creased. It seemed more and more people he met were leaving to join the mercs. Maybe one of them would meet Eren and Mikasa. Or maybe they were dead. Mercs died more than civilians—even the National Guard who stayed within the “safety” of city limits had fewer casualties, despite the number of attacks on cities' limits.

Being surrounded didn't give one much of a chance to survive.

“Aren't Jean and Marco going to be leaving for the training station, too? The beginning of the next cycle is March 3rd, right?” Mina asked. She finally set the pencil down, perfectly parallel with the sides of the paper.

“Yeah,” Armin said faintly.

Mina tilted her head to the side. “You aren't going with them?”

Armin shook his head.

“I know you've said for years you don't want to be a merc, but . . . I don't know, never mind.” She waved a hand and stretched again. “I'm going up to take a nap. Can you flip the sign to closed on your way out? Thanks.”

“Have a good nap,” Armin said, shoulders sagging. _What had she been about to say?_

Marco and Jean were in the lobby kicking around a volleyball with the word “Mikasa” on it and Armin's thoughts drifted to _Castaway_ , to putting a face on the ball and pretending it was Mikasa. But then there still wouldn't be an Eren and somehow he felt that would be worse. Mikasa and Armin both without Eren. It was supposed to be a trio. Wherever they were, they weren't a trio either. Unless they'd found a replacement for Armin. He winced at the thought.

“Hey, Armin!” Marco called with a wave and kicked the ball over.

He just managed to catch it with his foot and give it to Jean with a poorly aimed kick that had the guy running halfway across the room and almost colliding with a staff member to safely secure beside his foot. “That's a volleyball, you know,” Armin said, sitting down on his favorite bench under the roof.

Once again Jean kicked the ball to Marco, who flipped it up into the air and caught it in his hands. The two of them headed over to Armin and sat down on either side of him. Marco set the ball on his lap, “-kasa” staring up at Armin. _Umbrella_ , he thought in his head.

“Soccer's better than volleyball though, and it works all right,” Marco said. “I used to play back in Colorado. My mom was even my coach.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old battered blue wallet. He flipped it open and pulled out a folded photo of a soccer team. There was little Marco—with all the freckles, it was literally impossible to miss him—and right beside him knelt a slender woman with equally as many freckles and long thick black hair braided down to her waist. “I was pretty good, too.”

“I don't doubt it,” Jean said. He snatched the volleyball and began throwing it up in the air and then catching it, much like Armin used to do sometimes with a baseball. “Do you gain a freckle each year, Marco? I swear you have more than you do in that picture.”

Marco smiled. “I don't know. I've never counted them.”

The ball paused. Jean gave Marco an open-mouthed stare and Armin could see gears turning, probably thoughts relating to “and he says they aren't just isolated to his face. Might have to check that out sometime.” The obviousness of it all apparently wasn't obvious to Marco who just went on smiling pleasantly like he was so apt to do.

“Hey, Armin, I was thinking,” Marco started—the sound of the ball dropping repeatedly into Jean's hands continued. “Jean and I will be leaving soon to the training station, and I was thinking we should do something before that. I mean, we don't know each other all that well, but considering the circumstances, we're probably better friends than most people have nowadays.”

Armin nodded once. “What did you have in mind?”

“What do you think?” He looked over at the volleyball. “A soccer match.”

“With who?” Armin asked.

“Anybody we can round up,” Marco said excitedly. “It'll be nice, won't it? A soccer game in the midst of all this? I mean, people might be hesitant at first, but once they start playing . . .” His eyes sparkled and he looked off into nowhere—or maybe some idyllic place only he could see where the grass grew green and the greatest thing of all was a soccer game with thousands of people cheering him and his friends on. “We can use the old soccer field even. And it's in a busy-ish area, so people will see. And I don't know, maybe we can get a crowd going . . .” His sparkle eyes moved onto Armin and one couldn't just say _no_ to those eyes. It'd be akin to crushing the souls of five thousand puppies—probably.

The ball landed in Jean's hands with a snap and he grinned at them. “Sounds like a plan. When should we plan for this game of heroes?”

The puppy just shrugged, still a smile on his face. “Whenever I guess. As long as it's before the first. We have to leave then.”

“You can still come with us,” Jean said, passing the ball to Armin, who just set it in his lap and spread his fingers over the surface—his index finger rested next to the tittle of the “i.” It was shaped like a little explosive star. “Armin?”

Armin lifted his head. “Huh? Oh. No. I'm staying here.” He pressed against the ball, as if he could smash it right there between his hands. Make it useless. Make the game just a dream unless they found someone else with a ball willing to sell for cheap. Did they even have anything more to give? He wondered how they got this one.

At least Jean didn't push. “Okay. Marco, maybe we can get that little girl to recruit. The one that was talking to you earlier about muffins or whatever?”

“May?” Marco asked, smile widening.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Armin yielded the ball. “I'm going to eat and maybe work on some sewing. That jacket still has a hole in the elbow right?”

Jean lifted his arm. “Yeah.”

“I'll sew it closed for you,” Armin offered. And then before Jean could speak, he said, “For free.”

He grinned. “Thanks.” Easily he slipped out of the raggedy old jacket and set it across Armin's lap. “And hey, if you're cool with some two-on-two, we'll be . . . somewhere. Just listen for the high-pitched giggles of a little girl and me trying not to cuss.” He slapped Armin's shoulder and headed off.

Marco waved and followed.

On his bed, Armin sat Indian style and worked on sewing the jacket. He had white thread, which would be super noticeable on the dark material, but in this life it didn't matter. Maybe once, but not now. He took his time sewing, making sure each hole was in the correct spot, and making sure it stayed put. Then he tried it on to see how the sleeve bent when the arm was it. Seemed okay.

Before taking it off, he just wrapped it tighter around him. He loved this jacket. At least it was in safe hands with Jean. And if Jean ever did end up losing it, another merc could pick it up, and maybe it would just keep traveling along. Maybe one day it'd reach Eren, and Eren would recognize it. Armin hoped he'd recognized it.

-

August 15, 2025

THREE PLUS THREE

 

They had staked out the supply dump that morning. Thirty zombies trudged outside walls of the warehouse. The windows were barricaded with wood, so they couldn't see in. And the only door that wasn't closed—it was missing entirely—did not provide an adequate line of sight into the heart of the building. No one liked going in blind, so while everyone checked their equipment and prepared for the attack, Armin sat with his brain, laying out a 3D map of the area in his head, including a rough version of the inside of the building from the tentative blueprints the National Guard had given Annie's unit.

The building had a ladder to the roof, and a roof entrance into the building itself. That was the most logical option. First they had to get through the mob of zombies to get up the ladder in the first place. The roof entrance led down into a tiny maintenance area. If there were zombies in the building, going into that room blind could have been a death sentence for them. They had limited grenades, but one would have to be used in that room before they descended in. And then halfway down, a second one out the door. That left two more grenades they had to save—one for each unit.

After that it was hand-to-hand. But without knowing how many zombies there were, they probably were walking into a death trap. Still, this was their job. And at the moment, Armin had no better alternatives. Even now as he was going over this plan and trying desperately to think of any other plan—and one that didn't include using the last two grenades after the first crucial two.

“Armin, we're almost ready,” Marco called.

He stood up and looked at them all, loading their guns and checking their sights. His eyes rested on Annie and then he quickly looked away. There had to be a better option, one that increased their chances of survival.

“Hey, where's that knife,” Annie asked, and suddenly she was in front of him.

“Oh, yeah.” He pulled it out and his bottle of rose oil. He gave both to her. “Put some oil on your fingers and rub over the blade for thirty seconds.”

She gave him a skeptical look but did as he asked. His eyes watched her fingers move while his brain went back to the problem.

“Thank God for roses,” Annie said, lifting the knife and inspecting the blade, though there was really nothing remarkable to see. It appeared to be an ordinary blade. “They're the best distraction for these damn things.”

Armin looked at her sharply. “Distraction?”

Annie gave him an uninterested look. “Yeah?”

“I have an idea,” he said. “And I'll be the one to do it since it's my own plan. It'll decrease my chances of living, but increase all of yours.”

“What's this?” Jean said, walking over, gun over his shoulder. “I already don't like the sound of it. Anyway, if anyone's going to be doing whatever it is you've got planned, it'll be me.”

“No way. I won't let you do that,” Marco protested.

Jean gave him a glare.

“I'm the best out of all of you,” Reiner remarked. “Let me do it.”

Berthold stayed quiet, and so did Annie.

Armin sighed. “We don't know what we're walking into once inside. But zombies are attracted to noise. If someone were to deviate from the others and cause a commotion, it might bring whatever zombies are inside, as well as out, after them to investigate. It will at least clear out some of the zombies that may be inside, which will help you guys.”

“Which will help whoever goes inside,” Jean corrected.

Ignoring Jean, Armin continued. “At least we'll have a better idea of how many zombies there are to finish them all off. And once the zombies inside are cleared out, we can barricade the door and take them all out from the roof. That will leave the distraction--” _Me._ “--to find cover, or to climb up the ladder if they can.”

“I agree. It should be Jean,” Annie said.

Jean frowned and glared at her now. “No fucking way. You can't volunteer me.”

She kept her eyes on Armin, but spoke to Jean. “You already volunteered. Are you backing out now?”

“I'm going,” Armin said firmly. “It's my idea. I'm going.”

“Then I'll go with you,” Reiner offered. “Let the other four go inside.”

Armin stared at him weakly but gave in. “Fine.”

“Anyway,” Reiner said, bringing his gun into two hands and grinning madly. “It'll give them two targets to mob.”

Jean pulled Armin aside. “Look, you be careful, okay? I won't stand for you dying.”

Marco slapped Armin lightly on the chest with his fist. “Give 'em hell.”

Armin just nodded.

“You got guts,” Annie said as they all got into position. “Stupid, but gutsy.”

“You have guts too. Everyone does. You know . . . innards and all,” Armin said and then he wondered why the hell he was saying it, and his ears got hot and he looked away, pretending to focus on the zombies ahead. “So do zombies. So let's . . . spill them?” He didn't dare look over to see her expression. Luckily—or maybe not luckily—she said nothing.

“Ready?” Jean called to them.

“Of course,” Annie said.

They ran as one, heading straight towards the ladder. Between the two stood thirty zombies, awakened by the sound of running feet and the sight of six delicious intact humans charging them. Bullets rang out from the merc's weapons, some connecting, some not. But more hit the closer they got until finally the guns' safeties clicked on and out came the axes, machetes, and knives. 

Armin held his ax in two hands and lifted it in the air, striking down just as a zombie, mouth agape, went in for the kill. The blade stuck deep into its neck, leaving the zombie nearly headless—until Armin swung again and rectified the situation. The blade swung clean through this time, and the blond turned away just as the blood splashed up onto his skin. He wiped it off his cheek with his sleeve—smearing most of it—and moved on to the next zombie.

“Watch out!” Berthold cried and pushed Armin out of the way. The brunet's knee connected with the gut of a particularly quick zombie, followed with a machete into the back. Armin gave it a good beheading and then thanked Berthold with a nod.

The zombies swarmed them, closing in around them. They were almost to the ladder, but zombies choked them off from each other—Annie, Armin, and Berthold together, and Jean, Reiner, and Marco together. There was no way Reiner would be able to get to Armin if he waited any longer, and he looked busy at the moment. Someone else would either have to take his place or Armin would go it alone.

Annie swiped the feet out from under a zombie, and then gave Berthold a shove over the fallen body. “Go with them!” she shouted. She threw her rose-infused blade at an oncoming zombie. It let out a gargled scream and crumpled to the ground. Berthold smashed his foot down into his jaw, pulled the knife out, threw it back to Annie and made it through the gap before it closed off forever.

“It's you and me then,” Annie told Armin and flipped the knife in her hand to grab the hilt and stick it into the eye of a zombie. She stabbed them, and Armin finished them. It was easy once the poison got a hold of them.

Marco made it to the ladder first. He reached out a hand and brought Jean up with him. Reiner got Berthold up, and then the blond went up after them. The zombies turned their attention to Armin and Annie.

“We have to get to those haystacks,” Armin said, pointing to piles of hay one hundred yards away.

Together they kicked the first two zombies in their path, followed by a blade to the throat, and then made a dash for the hay. As small as they were—Armin thin, and Annie short—they could better dodge the zombies.

Twenty feet away, one grabbed a hold of Armin's shirt. Annie chopped its arm off. Another leaped on her back. She elbowed it in the stomach and then twisted her body, leaving the creature's bare back vulnerable to Armin's wonderful ax. He cut it deep right in the spine, and it cried out. Annie grabbed a hold of one of its arms and threw it off her with all her might.

Armin grabbed Annie's hand and pulled her towards the hay again. She twisted out of his grip, instead grabbing _him_ and throwing him into the zombies before them. His body barreled into them, sending them sprawling to the ground, and Armin along with them. Annie ran past, only to slam her toe into a zombie's chin and breaking its neck. Armin kicked up at an attacker, and threw the butt of his ax into another.

“Annie, look out!” Armin cried as a zombie pushed her to the ground and crouched on top of her.

Her hand flashed out and with a cry she stabbed the rose blade deep into the zombie's skull. She twisted and twisted as it howled. Armin crawled over and grabbed its neck, yanking it off of her. They took each other's hands and then got to their feet and ran the last fifteen feet to the hay.

Annie leaped first, digging her fingers into the hay and climbing up to the top. “Come on!” she said, beckoning with her blood-soaked fingers.

The sound of a grenade met their ears. A few seconds later another one went off.

It distracted the zombies just enough for Armin to throw Annie his ax and then climb up after her.

Some of the zombies began running towards the building.

Annie pulled out a flash bang from her belt. “Close your eyes.” She tossed it out into the horde and turned away, covering her eyes.

“Time to make noise,” Armin said once they opened their eyes.

The two of them separated, jumping along the tall stacks of hay and shouting, calling for the zombies to come after them. And they did. The mercs pulled out their guns and fired into the air, calling every zombie within hearing distance out to them. Even the ones who had stayed inside during the initial attack would flock out, at least some of them. As long as the others stayed quiet for a few minutes, letting the effects of their grenades settle.

Armin emptied the clip and reloaded. Now he aimed at the zombies clawing at his haystack and nailed them right in the head. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Annie doing the same thing. A pile of bodies did begin to accrue at the base of Armin's hay pile, and some zombies began to climb in order to get closer to Armin.

He reloaded again but fumbled with a bullet and watched it fall down onto a zombie's head. Almost as if in revenge, the zombie reached up and grabbed a hold of Armin's foot, dragging him down into the mass of zombies, dead and alive. The gun flew out of his hand, free bullets with it. Armin smacked into the pile of zombies and then rolled down onto the ground. His head smacked into an old farm tool—a rusty shovel blade. A rivulet of warm blood swirled down his face into his eye. He wiped it away, and blinking too much, crawled away from the zombies reaching for him. His foot connected with the nose of a zombie.

But there were too many. He tried to get his ax from around his back—which somehow hadn't decided to, you know, _kill him_ on his way down from the hay—but too many zombies had grouped around him and any second now teeth would sink into his flesh and then it was only a matter of 60-90 minutes for him to turn into one of them.

A bullet rang out, zipping into the brain of a zombie. And then another. And another.

Armin punched a zombie away and finally got his ax out. He swung out, slashing open the stomach of a foe. He got to his feet and stumbled back, eyes wide, ax out in front of him.

More zombies fell before him. When Armin looked up, he saw the others on the roof, taking out the last of the undead. Annie had jumped down from her hay and was running towards Armin, a knife in each hand. She kicked a zombie in the face mid-run, and as she jumped over its body, she threw one knife into the neck of a zombie near Armin, and the other into the one below her. When she landed, she swiped the knife out of the flesh and continued running towards Armin.

By the time she got to him, only five remained. Together, the blondes disposed of them, the last one falling from a rose knife to the back and an ax to the neck. The head and the body plopped to the ground, followed by a slurp as Annie removed the knife.

“We cleared the warehouse. Most of them ran outside to see what you two were doing,” Marco called from the roof. “Glad you two are okay! No bites, right?”

Armin looked over his body and let out a long breath.

“Berthold and I are going back in for the supplies to start organizing. Reiner and Jean will get the cars and bring them here,” Marco continued, and then he and the tall one went back into the warehouse, while Jean and Reiner climbed down the ladder and headed up towards the vehicles.

Armin collapsed on the ground and leaned against a fence post.

“You're bleeding,” Annie said, getting down on one knee. She pulled some bandages from the pack on her belt, and a tissue. She got the tissue wet with spit and cleaned the wound. Then she wrapped the bandages around his head. Before he could say thank you, she got up to meet Reiner and Jean at the vehicles.

Armin looked after her and then down at the ax in his shaking hands. His eyes closed and he leaned his head back. “Everything's okay now,” he whispered. “Everything's okay.”

-

May 30 2013

BEFORE

Somehow they'd gotten their parents' permission to camp out in Armin's backyard. Grandpa was all for it; mostly they just needed Grisha to get his head out of wherever it was—Eren suggested “his ass,” for which Carla got mad at him. But after a twenty-minute discussion in Grisha's study, Carla managed to persuade him it was perfectly safe, even if Armin's backyard didn't have a fence and was right next to a grove of trees a stream—the perfect camping location. Eren's fenced-in suburban yard with _AstroTurf_ just wouldn't cut it. Even if Grisha hadn't given permission, Carla said she would have let them anyway and then dealt with the aftermath.

“My mom's so cool,” Eren said, laying out in his parent's tent that had taken an hour to put up because they all sucked at putting up tents—Mikasa had to use the internet to get instructions because _someone_ had eaten them and thrown them up years before. “She even said she's gonna bring us some homemade mac and cheese later tonight.”

“I like mac and cheese,” Mikasa said.

“We know you do,” both Armin and Eren said at the same time.

“Like” being the understatement of the year.

Mikasa pulled each corner of her pillow to get it nice and smooth and then lay down beside Eren. Her hair spilled out over the silk. “We should camp more often.”

“I agree,” Armin said. “When we travel the world, we should camp every chance we get.”

“Yeah,” Eren said with a grin. “Who needs boring hotels anyway?”

Armin looked at Eren's vulnerable bare feet and suppressed a smile as he went in for the attack. Immediately, the foot came up and smacked Armin in the chin. He fell back and Eren got up, suddenly panicked, asking Armin over and over again if he was okay until he realized Armin was laughing. Eren knelt down next to him and gave him a dry look. “I thought I'd killed you or something.”

“Never,” Armin said and gave one last laugh before sighing contentedly. “So what should we do? I didn't exactly plan for activities. I didn't have the time--”

“Oh boo. That's great. We can be spontaneous then!” Eren said, falling down beside him.

Mikasa poked Armin's feet with her toes. They lifted their feet and brought the bottoms together and then lifted them in the air. Sometimes they'd move them around in lazy shapes. Eventually Eren wanted in, so Armin let his left foot down. The three of them lay there, feet all together in the air, trying to come up with ideas of what to do.

They ended up telling stories. Someone would say a one-line story, and the other would continue it. They'd try to get as ridiculous as possible.

“There was once a man named Joe with a wooden leg.”

“He let his cat use the leg as a scratching post.”

“Until one day his leg disappeared.”

“Bill tried to--”

“His name's Joe.”

“Joe tried to find it.”

“He traveled the world.”

“Eventually when he got back home a new leg was awaiting him.”

“His cat made it but he'd never figure it out.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“This kept happening for years until finally one day, when Joe got home, his cat had died from old age and there was no new leg.”

“So Joe went to school and learned carpentry and just made himself a new leg.”

“And then he got a new cat who didn't use the new leg as a scratching post and Joe was so shocked he died . . . of shock.”

“What?”

“YOU HEARD ME.”

That was the tamest of the stories. Their favorite ended with a cyclops serial killer who decided to settle down and have chocolate children with his unicorn spouse and they found a priest who brought back all the people he had killed, who then turned into butterflies because they were such precious people and then the cyclops died because he ate too much toothpaste and his spouse died a few days later from crying so much its body shriveled up. And the chocolate children melted and became a perpetual chocolate fountain.

They all wanted chocolate after that. So they made a little fire outside in the fire pit and roasted marshmallows and made s'mores. Without napkins, goo got all over, so they washed themselves in the stream and ended up getting soaked. Then came the mac and cheese and Mikasa ate half of it. By then it was dark, so they turned on their flashlight and made shadow puppets.

At midnight they pretended they could see the galaxy amidst all the light exuded from the city and the suburbs, and then they all lay down to go to sleep, side by side—Eren with his face smooshed into Mikasa's shoulder blade, and Armin with an arm around Eren's waist.

“Let's do this every summer,” Armin whispered near Eren's neck.

Mikasa shuffled her feet a little, her heel touching Armin's—they were cold. “And then tomorrow we can sing 'June is Bustin' Out All Over.'”

“What?” both of the boys said.

“I'm cold . . .” Mikasa murmured sleepily.

“Sleep in the middle, Mikasa,” Eren said.

“Hmm?”

Eren got up and hopped over Mikasa. “Lift your head.” She did so and he swapped their pillows. “Now move towards Armin.”

When she did so, Armin wrapped an arm around her waist instead. Eren lay back down and put an arm around her too. Their foreheads touched, and now Armin was the one smooshing his face into Mikasa's shoulder blade. Both Armin and Eren made sure the blankets were tucked around them, creating a human burrito essentially, to trap all the heat in.

“Mmm,” Mikasa hummed and smiled. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Eren said a little too loudly.

“Night,” Armin said and closed his eyes. He fell asleep last, letting Eren's loud breathing and Mikasa's light snoring lull him into a beautiful and syrupy sleep.

– 

August 21, 2025

THREE PLUS THREE

“Armin. Hey Armin.”

Armin blinked out of his reverie and looked over at Marco. Wind blew some hair into his face as they raced along the road towards Evanston. He pulled out his hair tie—still the one Jean had first given him three years ago—and put his hair in a loose bun. A strand still managed to fly free but he ignored it.

The RADAR Annie had installed in their jeep remained wonderfully quiet. Armin gave it a flick just in case it was frozen. But it was working great.

It had been two days since he last saw Annie. He could still remember the way she smelled, but soon he'd forget. He leaned his head back against the headrest and imagined it in his nose when she had nodded to him and climbed into her jeep. It was leather, with a hint of pomegranate, and sweat. Probably not an endearing smell to others, since the sweat grossly outweighed the others, it did appeal to him, but he was biased. Of course it smelled wonderful when he was so enraptured with Annie herself. He almost felt young—younger—like when he first realized how much liked Eren. Except this time he could freely accept it and revel in it. This time he could think of her face and it would just bring him the most serene happiness.

As he remember her smell when he said goodbye, he could still see the knife in her hand. The one she had received for their trade. Before he'd given it to her, while they rested after raiding the supply dump, he had carved Japanese characters into the hilt. She asked him what they said, but then told him to tell her if she ever saw him again. That was probably a good sign, like she wanted to see him again—or at least, that she wouldn't dislike meeting again, even if Jean was there.

“Armin,” Marco said again.

“Sorry, what?” Armin said, sitting up straight again.

“I was thinking . . .” He glanced back at snoozing Jean.

“As you're so apt to do,” Armin commented kindly.

Marco chuckled. “I was thinking about what you said. I _would_ like to get married to Jean. But I know he's kind of hesitant because we're mercs and one of us could die any day, so I was wondering if you could help me persuade him that . . . that it would be great. No matter what happens.”

Armin smiled. “Sure. Soon as we get back to a safe zone, we'll find you guys a preacher. Or . . . I mean, I know you're not religious so maybe we can just find some justice of the peace, if they're still around.” He frowned. “I'm not actually sure who marries people anymore. I haven't really been paying attention to that.”

“Except with Jean and me,” Marco pointed out. “A preacher will be just fine. I know that would make Jean happy.” He glanced back at Jean again, a tender look entering his eyes. “So here's hoping that this mission goes well and we get out alive.”

Armin just stared at Marco. “Wow. You really are just so in love.”

The Freckle King's face went red, and he sputtered out some nonsense. Armin had no idea what he said, but he just smiled even wider.

“You'll still always be Marco Butt, though,” Armin said and closed his eyes.

Marco laughed. “That means Jean could possibly be Jean Butt in the future.”

“Marco Kirschtein. Nope, you're right, Jean Butt.” Armin chuckled.

The RADAR beeped.

Behind them, Jean awoke with a start and immediately came forward to get a better look at the RADAR. Marco slowed the vehicle to a stop and leaned in as well. Armin opened his eyes but let them stare straight ahead, waiting for any reaction from the others to signal what was about to happen.

“To the north,” Jean said and moved back.

Armin swiveled his face and looked to his right at seemingly nothing. And then a pin prick of black. The more seconds ticked by, the more the pin prick grew. Until finally there was no mistaking the blob as a horde of zombies. And there was no decent cover in this land of nothingness. He leaned forward and grabbed his rifle. As he got to his feet, he attached the scope and then lifted it to his eye. Behind him, with binoculars, Marco breathed out, “Jesus Christ.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armin and Eren start to realize their feelings for each other, Armin and Mikasa have a bonding moment, and there's a little accident during the soccer game.

November 12, 2018

THE MIDDLE

 

They sat in an old rec room of the shelter—an old hospital in Nashville—Armin on the ground and Eren on a bench. Carefully, Armin reattached the prosthesis onto Eren's flesh leg. His hand lingered on the artificial material, his thumb moving in the tiniest caress he could get away with without Eren noticing. He gave it a pat and then got to his feet. “All right. How's it feel?” Armin asked.

Eren wiggled his leg a little, face screwed up in concentration. Tentatively, he put some weight on it and then stood up. “What did you do? It feels lighter or something . . .”

Armin smiled. “I just made adjustments to the knee junction and the connection so they move smoother and put less negative pressure on your actual leg,” he said proudly. At least, that was the general idea. First they had to test it out and he hoped to God he hadn't messed up.

A smile spread over Eren's face, just a tiny gentle one. “Still a genius.”

Some pink crept up on Armin's cheeks—he should have been used to this by now, nice things from Eren. But now it was different. Because Armin's lungs held more air when Eren smiled at him. Not a wild grin or an amused smile, but a loving one and it was such a rare sight on Eren's face, at least the past few years, it made him all the more beautiful and also _he was smiling at_ Armin.

“You're beautiful,” Armin said.

The smile disappeared, replaced by rounded lips and round innocent eyes. And goddamn everything if it didn't send warm sparkles through Armin's body, primarily in his cheeks when he smiled like the lovesick dumb ass he was.

It was Eren's turn to blush and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. And it was just then Mikasa returned from her trip to the bathroom, who purposefully accidentally bumped into Eren who went flying forward and into Armin who definitely caught him good.

“Sorry,” Mikasa said, adjusting her scarf.

“It's fine!” Eren said hastily, while Armin gave Mikasa a knowing look. She hid a smile with her scarf and sat down on the bench.

The two—well, Eren mostly—finally realized Armin was still holding him, an arm wrapped around half of his body. Eren cleared his throat and took his time straightening up on his own on the pretense his leg needed some hand-holding after the stumble.

“Thanks,” he said and Armin nodded.

“There's a train bound for Orlando at the end of tomorrow. Last train of the day and last train to Orlando for several weeks, so we can't miss it,” Mikasa said.

“We can stay there until you're . . . fit for training,” Armin said. It was still many months off, hell, maybe even by a year, but it was the safest city outside the sealed off strongholds, and it produced the best results when it came to training mercs.

Finally Eren looked away from Armin to find the time. Up on the wall, the cracked black-rimmed analog ticked away, three minutes from 7 o'clock. They had to check in now before the cafeteria closed and they missed out on dinner.

“What's on the menu?” Eren wondered on the way.

Mikasa answered and Armin missed it because he was too busy listening to Eren's leg and making sure it moved naturally. But he was greeted with probably overdue beans and a wimpy pile of potatoes half-mashed with the smallest cube of butter.

“Oh, look, beans. What a surprise,” he sighed.

When they sat down, Eren offered to take said beans off his hands and Armin told him to fuck off.

He took out his map and opened it flat on the table.“We should see it,” Armin said.

Mikasa, mouth full of beans, just looked at him in confusion while Eren was stuck in his task of seeing if Mikasa's hair was long enough to put in a ponytail and even braid. He was determined to make something work.

Armin moved the map over. “Disney World.”

“We've already been there,” she pointed out once she swallowed.

“I know. But now it'll be abandoned. It'll be like . . .” He scrunched up his face, thinking of the right words. “When we were small, and we pictured those fantastical places. Places where we could be adventurers, like Indiana Jones. The parks aren't in use anymore. They just sit there.”

Mikasa gave him a skeptical look. “Didn't the National Guard make the place unlivable three years ago?”

The parks had served as shelters for a lot of people immediately following the zombie outbreak. In fact, they were said to be the most secure shelters on the eastern seaboard. Then some people were paid off by some syndicate even mysterious today to cause a glitch in the defenses. The zombies went in. Even while three fourths of the population was still very much human, working to find a way out, the National Guard locked them all in and gassed the whole place. Soldiers went in to finish off the crippled zombies and then bury the human dead.

The place was still toxic. But with the right equipment, anybody could go in and stay safe. Armin could get the right gear for all three of them, and for cheap if he played his cards right, which he so often did in this new world of barter and less and less coin.

“It might be a few years away, but . . . just imagine,” Armin said. He folded up the map.

“There!” Eren said with a triumphant smile directed at Mikasa's hair.

Mikasa moved her hand back to feel, but at the touch, whatever Eren had managed to achieve now crumbled. He let out out a noise of shock and hunched over to stare forlornly at the remnants of his success. But almost two second later he sat straight again, disappointment gone, and a spoonful of beans in his mouth.

“Disney World sounds great. And once we're mercs,” Eren said, moving on as if none of the trauma with Mikasa's hair had ever happened, “we can go in there armed and perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves. Who knows? We may even meet some zombies in there and kill them.”

Armin shrugged. “If there's any life there, it won't have been there for long.” He picked up his own can of beans and peeled back the top. Mikasa handed him her spoon since they only had one to go around, and he took a huge mouthful.

“They won't be there for long once we get there,” Eren said.

They trudged back to their beds, stomach half-full with overdue beans and undercooked “mashed” potatoes. Eren groaned and pulled off his leg, setting it beside him on the cot like a lover. He rubbed just above the stump, wiggled his leg, and brought it onto the cot with the rest of him. He looked over at Armin who pretended not to notice, as if he was stuck in his mind and the map. The brunet stared at him for exactly twenty seven seconds—Armin counted—and then gazed back at the ceiling and said Mikasa's name.

“Hmm?” she answered as she clipped off some loose threads of her scarf.

“Do you think I'm good looking? Even . . . beautiful, say?” he asked.

The map crinkled where Armin held it too tight. His eyes remained scouring the map, but his ears dropped eaves, though really, with them, any conversation was for the entire trio.

“Sure,” Mikasa merely said.

Eren frowned—Armin sneaked a glance. “That's it? _Sure_?”

The sound of scissors stopped. “You asked me and I answered. If you want a more in depth answer, ask Armin.”

Armin brought his body in.

“I already know how he feels,” Eren said.

“Then why are you having a fit?”

Eren scowled. “I'm not having a fit.”

“You will be soon,” Mikasa said.

Armin smiled.

Eren sat up. “ _Look_ , I--” But he stopped when he realized Mikasa and Armin were chuckling. He relaxed and his eyes went soft. “Yeah. Fine.”

Mikasa returned to her scarf.

“Hey, Armin?”

He looked up. “Yeah?”

Eren reached over and grabbed the edge of Armin's bunk. “Put your legs up.” Armin hardly had time to—legs bent awkwardly in the air—before Eren was pulling the cot over right next to his. The awful scrape over the cracked worn tile echoed through the room and some woman with a sleeping child cussed them out Mormon style—because her other child was still awake and open eared.

Armin's legs fell back down and over Eren's legs. He still sat with his hands in the air, map in hand, waving in the breeze of the five-minute long air conditioning.

“Mikasa.”

Next came her bunk—but she was graceful, sitting cross-legged on the center of her cot, unfazed by the sudden move. She did glance down. “The edge of the cots are uncomfortable. I'm not sleeping over it.” Uncomfortable as they were giant metal bars—two, if bunks were put beside each other. It was even worse than sticking two mattresses together and sinking into the pit of doom as the mattresses slowly pulled apart over time.

Armin could try, even if Mikasa wouldn't. At the moment he felt quite comfortable with his legs over Eren's. Of course Mikasa was right once they all settled in before lights went off at nine. Though his legs could sit comfortably over the metal bars of the cots, not much else could without his bones feeling like they were slowly being crushed or at least permanently dented. Eren tried to pull Mikasa over but she put her hand over his face and pushed him back into Armin. Maybe it was a natural instinct or something, but Armin's arms immediately wrapped around Eren. It wasn't as if it was anything _new_. They had done it all the time as kids. It was just . . .

“Been awhile,” Eren said in a surprisingly quiet voice.

He tried. Armin really tried. His arms wanted to hold on, but his bones said otherwise. So he released Eren and moved back over into the center of his cot. Eren did the same in his own cot and then turned so he faced Armin. The lights went off, and it took a few seconds for Armin's eyes to readjust but Eren was still there, looking at him.

Slowly Armin uncurled his arm from his chest and set it on the metal bars of death. A moment later Eren's warm hand took it. Their fingers fumbled around until they interlocked, and then Eren closed his eyes. Armin smiled and did the same.

–

February 15, 2014  
THE BEGINNING

Five days and they hadn't seen another human—not a zombie either. Armin told himself seeing no zombies was more important. But even with the other two at his side, it was so lonely. They didn't talk much, not even Eren. It looked like he was mulling things over, getting everything straight before he made a move. He was sure to move for violence. Injustice, unfairness, scratched at his soul like a sick rabid beast. With his family gone—Armin assumed; he still hadn't talked about it—revenge was probably going to sit foremost in his mind. As the hours passed, Armin could see it growing in his eyes.

There was a noise outside the shed they were hiding in, but it was just Mikasa jumping down from the roof. She had been keeping watch, but from her expression, they still appeared to be in relative isolation. She put her hands up to her mouth, breathed on them, and then held them near the fire. 

It was a sorry thing, but Armin was getting better the more fires he made. And he'd need to; even now the temperature was just above freezing. Snow drifted down, soundless, but the shed protected them from its full bite. He and Mikasa watched it as they sat by the fire, struggling to keep warm. It was beautiful, the snow.

“It'll get warmer soon,” Mikasa said. “The weather report said so on Sunday.”

Sunday. On Sunday everything had still been normal. Armin would never get that back. He'd have to adapt to this new world, and understanding that, that there was no going back no matter how hard they tried, would only help him in that task. Mikasa understood it too. She hadn't said it, but she didn't need to. Armin knew her well enough.

Having taken care of themselves, that left the two to worry about Eren. Eren who sat hunched over, eyes staring just at the edge of the fire, nose crinkling more and more and time passed. He'd get prematurely wrinkled if he kept it up.

“The renewal of Spring,” Armin said with a tiny smile.

The snow stopped. Both Mikasa and Armin relaxed. She moved her leg and kicked the shed door closed. It slammed, the loose lock clanging against the wood.

“And then comes Summer,” Mikasa said, the same smile on her face. “My favorite season.”

“I like them all,” Armin said, moving his hands closer to the fire and then back again. “Okay, so maybe I like Summer more too . . . It's warm.” His hands curled into loose fists and then dropped onto his lap. He looked at Mikasa. “Summer lasts as close to forever as you can get if you spend every minute of it doing something fun.”

Mikasa's eyes grew soft, but it lasted only a moment. Her eyes darkened and the smile left. “Eren's mom . . . she . . .” Her shoulders came forward and her knees up. The seconds passed by, and maybe she was trying to steady herself so she could speak. Armin noticed her move the scarf up, perhaps to cover tears. But he'd never know for sure.

“I don't know where Eren's dad was . . . and these two broke through the sliding glass door . . .” She took a deep breath. “She got the ax from under the sink . . . ordered Eren and me to leave.” Mikasa buried her face in her knees. Somehow, Armin could hear her next muffled words, “I dragged Eren out, but I don't know if Carla's still alive . . . What if we could have helped? Eren wanted to help.”

Armin scooted over right beside her and put an arm around her. “Yeah.”

From the opposite side of the fire, Eren lifted his head. “We still can. As soon as we're old enough, we join the military. It's the only way to get back at them!”

Armin avoided his eyes and stared at Mikasa's shoes instead.

“Whaddya say?” Eren asked.

Mikasa lifted her head. “I'll go where you go, Eren.”

Eren looked at Armin.

The same words she spoke wanted to leave Armin's lips as well. Imagining a world without the three of them together didn't compute. That was a wrong universe. But the military? Armin just wanted to get out alive, to be safe. For all of them to be safe, like they definitely _weren't_ right now. Fighting was for adults. Armin couldn't cling to his childhood; none of them could. But that didn't mean he had to fight, to pick up a weapon and just kill as many zombies as he could. Like they hadn't been people once. Like they couldn't still be people.

Armin didn't want to kill anyone.

All this ran through his head and Eren looked away, disappointed. “You can always change your mind.”

“E-Eren . . .” But Armin didn't know what to say. Maybe there wasn't anything, at least not now. For now they could just sit by the fire and be the scared eleven-year-olds they were.

–

April 26, 2022

THE NEW TRIO

The sky was fading to black—no, it was fading from black. No, back to black. Someone was saying something, but Armin was trying to focus instead of getting eyes to work properly. That same someone, maybe, moved him to a sitting position and that made the sky go definitely black. The someone said something and someone else got mad—Armin knew that voice. It belonged to a horse. No, it belonged to Jean Kirschtein. They moved Armin forward, head between his legs.

The sky came back in the form of the ground. _Oh no, that_ is _the ground_ , Armin thought. He slowly lifted his head, and though his vision was a little spotty, at least he could tell that Marco—more freckled with spotty vision—Jean, and Mina were hovering near him, looking worried. A sudden pain hit full force in the side of Armin's head and he clutched it as if that would help.

Jean put his hand up. “How many fing--”

“No, don't do--” Mina pushed his hand down and ignored Jean's complaining. Her still soot-stained hands gently lifted Armin's chin and then cupped his cheek. She smiled at him. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah?” Armin winced again. “What happened?”

“Jean kicked you in the head,” Mina said with a frown.

“It was an accident!” Jean growled.

“It was an accident,” Marco said as well but in a shyer tone.

Mina rolled her eyes. “He had clearly slipped on the ground and your foot was half a mile out from the ball and yet you still thought it was a good idea to try and take the shot. You wouldn't have made it anyway, Marco would have blocked it. Seriously, you come into this game boasting about how you're going to win when you can't even kick the ball two yards, Jesus Christ.”

“I told you not to say that. It's disrespectful to Marco,” Jean said.

While the two of them bickered, Marco held out a hand. Armin smiled and took it, letting Jesus pull him up to his feet in one beautiful swing. “I probably have a concussion . . .” Armin said.

“So you're out of the game, huh?” Marco asked, eyes round and bummed.

The face was hard to resist, but not impossible. “I wasn't doing much good anyway. Probably worse than Jean.”

“Look, Armin, I'm sorry. It was an accident,” Jean said.

“Can we keep going or are we going to keep coddling this asshole?” a high-pitched voice asked and someone gasped and Jean bit his lip to hold back a smile. It was the little girl May, standing a few yards away with the other players, hands on her hips, an unchildlike expression of loathing upon her face.

“It's okay,” Armin said to Jean and walked off the yellow grass field. He sat down just beyond the imaginary line of the playing field and put his hand on his head again. Only a few spots remained in his vision. It was probably safest to head to the hospital now, but Armin so wanted to see the end of the game. To hang on to this while it lasted. While he still got to spend time with Jean and Marco. Watching them start playing again, running and yelling taunts to each other—Jean trying to perform fancy footwork and promptly have the ball stolen from him—was the most enjoyable thing he'd done for years.

But his head did hurt. And the last few spots were still hanging around.

“Armin, go to the hospital,” Mina ordered ten minutes later. “You're not helping yourself.”

“But I--”

“Look, we'll put the game on hold,” Marco said.

“Oh no we _won't_ ,” May said. “We go on!”

Jean rolled his eyes. “They can keep playing, but Marco and I are out as long as you are. This was supposed to be for everyone. Not just us.”

The girl threw her hands up in the air and left.

The rest of the players stayed.

Armin blushed. “Look, I don't want to impose--”

“Go to the hospital,” Mina said, thrusting a finger in the direction of the place. “Or we'll carry you.”

No one could say no at this point. The doctor confirmed his concussion, did his thing, and sent Armin to the shelter on bed rest orders. Armin lay down and put an arm over his eyes. Jean and Marco sat on the side of the bed, throwing the ball to each other across that monstrous five inch gap between them.

“Sorry I ruined your game,” Armin said.

“Jean ruined the game, not you,” Marco said.

Jean gave him a look of betrayal but then sighed. “Yeah, sorry.”

“You guys should go finish,” Armin said.

“No,” Jean said firmly. “Not until you can play—or at least watch without fear of you passing out or something.” He twirled the volleyball in his hands for so long Marco had to steal it back. “And remember, bed rest. So rest. Fall asleep.”

Armin winced, except this time not in pain from his head. “I'd rather not.”

“What? Why? Sleep is beautiful,” Marco said.

The fingers of his left hand clutched the blanket. “It used to be.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Jean asked. “Do you get nightmares?”

Armin nodded his head an infinitesimal amount.

“Well everyone gets nightmares,” he muttered. It sounded like Marco punched him in the arm. Jean sighed. “Even so, don't you get dreams about life before this all started? I mean, you have to get those sometimes, right? Because I do. And Marco does.”

His fingers held tighter. “That's all I ever dream.”

“But . . . then why did you say you get nightmares?”

Armin didn't answer. _Because they're memories. And that's all they'll ever be. This is our life now. This is my life. Every day for as long as I live. I'm not like you, Jean. I'm not like you or Eren. It's not the present or future I fear. It's the past. Because the present doesn't haunt me like the past does. There's not much to lose in this life anymore. Even the precious things, you've resigned yourself to the fact that they can go away any day. Any minute. And you'll move on, probably too quickly, at least by the standards of life before. But the past was everything and it's_ all _gone. Every night, it will come back, and I'll see it, and I'll feel it. I'll re-experience it. But then I'll wake up. And it will all have been a lie. I can take what I have now and I can cherish it, no matter how small it might be. I can't cherish what isn't real._

Jean dropped the ball on the floor. “You may have resigned yourself to the fact that we can't get that life back, but I haven't. And I never will. Because with that mentality then nothing will ever change. It will just be the way it is. If you want something to happen, you go out there and make it happen. If you can kill the cancer, you cut it out. You don't just let it keep growing if you can help it. That's why I'm going to become a merc. To cut out the cancer. And even if nothing comes from my efforts now, not even for me to enjoy any bit of it, at least I'll have done something, and maybe in the long run it will matter.” Some of the weight lifted off the cot. “Rebuilding is an admirable goal. But we can't really start that until the cancer's gone. Or whatever we build will just keep getting beaten down. We can't really live, can't really rebuild . . . not until we get rid of them.”

“Jean . . .” Marco said quietly.

“Being a merc . . . going out there and killing zombies,” Jean said, “I'm not saying it's a good thing. Just . . . We're soldiers by necessity.”

His footsteps half-slid half-tapped against the concrete floor as he left.

Armin removed his arm from his eyes and stared at the ceiling, looking for the hundredth time how the pipes moves across the surface. How they went so many places beyond this room, places Armin would probably never see. At least they were going somewhere. They had a function.

The rest of the extra weight lifted, and Armin looked over at Marco when he stood. The Freckle King bent over and snatched the ball right up in one move and then turned to Armin. “I understand. I understand you both.”

“And?” Armin asked quietly.

Marco just shrugged though and smiled. “And nothing. By the way, I think that May girl really likes you.”

Armin let out an amused puff of air from his nose and closed his eyes. “Yeah. I can really tell.”

“Sleep well, Armin.”

“Thanks.”

The man took a few steps and then tracked back. Before Armin could ask what he wanted, he felt the volleyball on his stomach and then Marco was gone. Armin rolled over onto his side and held the ball close to his chest. Before he slipped into unconsciousness, he tried to think of a day not too long ago when he and Mikasa and Eren had been sitting around a large and luscious fire on some scraggly rock in Disney World singing Disney songs. The warmth of Mikasa's hand on his. The smell of Eren as he kissed Armin mid-chorus. The serenity of that night with the people Armin loved most.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lemonade stands, training, more training and Levi cameo, and vows in a brothel.

August 3, 2011  
BEFORE

They'd tried a lemonade stand. Put it on the corner everybody in the neighborhood had to drive past to get home from work. But everyone was too tired to buy lemonade after work. So they put it away and tried again on Saturday when everyone was relaxing. Same corner. Bigger sign—legible too, since Mikasa wrote on it instead of Eren who may have had the worst handwriting in their entire class at school. Armin came up with the business plan—or, they thought it was a plan. Mostly they just talked about how much they wanted to sell and then Armin got dressed up in his Halloween costume from two years before. 

So anyone who walked by saw a sign almost bigger than the actual lemonade stand, a girl sitting behind it on a stool, more interested in spinning around until she could almost throw up than actually looking at customers, a boy with large green eyes waving at everyone who passed and summoning them to the lemonade stand-- “Only one quarter a glass!!” And they weren't ordinary glasses either, they were from Carla's grandmother, and they were handmade, and they held way too much beverage for one person to actually drink.

And then finally one would see a boy dressed up as a little blue shirt from the original _Star Trek_ series. Upon closer inspection they'd realize it was actually Spock—he'd made fake pointed ears that actually turned out quite well. The wig however did not fit, and Armin's hair was too thick to wear a wig over without a cap to keep it all tucked under. But he was monologueing something about how logical it was to drink this lemonade and referencing how Mikasa had an incredible sense of smell because she was a vulcan.

It was that valiant effort that got them a few pity customers.

Five hours later Mikasa had drunk half the lemonade anyway and was complaining about her bladder and the lack of a bathroom and complaining to Eren how she couldn't “just go in the bushes.” But she went anyway and to reward her or something, Eren offered her some lemonade and she dumped it on his head.

Tired and poor, they all sat on the curb in defeat. Carla brought them some ice cream cones, and then bought the rest of the lemonade up—even though technically she had been the one to buy it from the store in the first place, but ssshh, mothers and all that.

Even Grisha bought a glass, and gave them each a pat on the head.

“We can try again next week at the park,” Armin decided.

Eren tried to lick some ice cream off his nose to no avail. Mikasa swiped it off with a finger and then put it in her mouth which elicited a smile from Eren.

“But I don't know about licenses and things,” Armin continued quietly.

“They can't do that with lemonade stands can they?” Eren asked.

Armin shrugged. “I dunno. I have to look at it more. Maybe ask my grandpa.”

“We need a better plan,” Mikasa said. She pointed to the sign and stand. “Tacky.”

“Tacky?” Armin sighed. “But to get better stuff we need money but that's why we're selling lemonade.”

Mikasa shrugged and put her head on her knees. “Too much lemonade.”

“Hey!” Eren said. “Isn't there a game tonight? We should all go to your house and watch it!”

Armin smiled. “My grandpa can make caramel popcorn for us. Who's the game against?”

“Milwaukee,” Mikasa mumbled into her legs. “If the Cardinals lose tonight, they lose the series. Which they probably will.”

“They're the Card Cards. They'll never lose,” Eren said. “I was just thinking . . . Are we too old to be selling lemonade?”

“Never too old,” Armin insisted. “Though, I think if we were fifty maybe it might be creepy.”

“It'd be way creepy,” Mikasa said. She uncurled her back and then put her arms in the air to stretch. Her shirt lifted up a little, exposing her bellybutton and Eren took little time to poke her in the stomach. To which he was quickly put in a headlock while Mikasa casually continued stretching—this time her legs and toes. When she was finished, she kissed the top of his head and then let him go.

Eren's face was bright red. “Gross.” He pretended to lightly punch her in the jaw, slowing down at the last second to give her a warm tap.

Armin watched them with a pleasant expression. He could spend all his days like this. So what if they were too old to sell lemonade? He was almost nine. That wasn't too old yet. No one was really old until they reached twelve, because that's when all the kid discounts went away. That's when they treated you like an adult—shoved you into hard classes, talked about something called advanced placement, and of course, what college you want to go to. They talked about college for _years_ , that's what the others said. The older kids. When they stopped being kids.

_I don't want to stop being a kid._

“Isn't that girl's baptism tomorrow?” Armin said.

“That girl,” Eren repeated.

“Yeah. She lives five streets away. When you turn eight you get baptized in her church,” Armin said. “I told her I'd go.”

“Do they let other people in their churches?” Eren asked. “I've never been in a church.”

“Me neither,” Armin said. “I wonder what it's like.”

“I used to go to church,” Mikasa said. They both looked at her wide-eyed. But she just shrugged. “It was kind of nice. But I like having nothing on Sunday. I like just being with you two.” She smiled. “I don't need God to keep me straight, to keep me good, when I have you two.” She took their hands in each of hers. “But she invited us to the after party, not the actual baptism. So don't worry about that.”

Eren lay back on the park strip. “Good. I don't have any nice clothes.”

“Because you ruined the last ones,” Armin said.

“For a good cause. Someone had to save that cat,” Eren insisted. He ran his hands over the grass. “Maybe we should just do yard work to get money. This grass is all yellow and hasn't been watered in days and it's been boiling hot outside.” He sat up quickly and grinned at them. “Whaddya say?!”

Mikasa put her head back down on her knees.

The grin didn't falter yet. Eren looked at Armin. “Well?”

Armin smiled in pain. “Eh . . . I'd rather not . . . let's just go watch the game and make popcorn for today. We can plan the future later. Got plenty of time. Leave the adult stuff for when we're adults.”

\--

December 31, 2018  
THE MIDDLE

Orlando was smaller than they expected, people-wise. Some people said it was because of Disneyworld. What happened there had tainted the area forever. Others said it was because the military dried it all up. When people became old enough, they became mercs or soldiers. The rest, the ones who couldn't join, stayed put because they were too tired. But it didn't exactly invite any new residents, not unless they were just there temporarily, like the trio, there for the same purpose as almost every other young person: get a gun, kill zombies.

They stayed in a shelter specifically designated for those such people. And they got a room to themselves. Every morning for the first week, they stayed in while they heard the others get up and run. Only the strong survived combat training. They had to build their strength. So long in a shelter will little food had left them weak, almost sickly. They got more food from this shelter, enough to feel satisfied, even if only the minimum amount. And when they felt up to it, Eren suggested they join the others.

“Take it slow. You don't have to be up to speed with them,” Mikasa told Eren as they left the room. The sun peeked out over the horizon. The temperature was steady, ready to warm up once the sun had woken up.

Eren bit his lip and nodded, eyebrows coming together with determination. “I'll be fine.”

“Remember, we have months to get ready for the next cycle. You don't have to rush,” Armin added.

“I know. I'll be fine,” Eren hissed.

Armin looked away.

“I'm sorry,” Eren said. “I'm just . . . I wish I didn't have to fucking deal with this.” He kicked his prostheses with his other foot. “And I wish you two didn't have to either.”

Maybe they should have insisted it didn't bother them. That they were okay taking it step by step with Eren and his synthetic leg. But it was tiring. And Armin was sure even Mikasa occasionally wondered where they could be if they left Eren behind to care facilities, the ones who looked after people with disabilities. Yes, Armin felt ashamed at the relief he felt at a life like that, unburdened by that plastic. But he couldn't change it. And he knew that he would never give up on Eren. Even if it killed him.

Mikasa ended the awkward silence with a quiet, “Don't worry about that.”

Eren knew. Of course he knew. He probably thought about it all the time. And he probably hated himself for it. Armin blamed himself, and he kept on blaming himself no matter how many time he told himself it couldn't be helped. Life was shitty.

They moved at a light jog. Every time the others lapped them in their run around the building, Armin could see Eren wince, like the looks of the others literally stung him. By the time they completed the ten laps and sat down on the ground, Eren was clutching the joint between flesh and plastic, teeth gritted. Too much sweat glistened on his skin, making him almost sparkle in the sunlight.

“We shouldn't have done all ten laps,” Armin said. “Next time we'll do half.”

“No,” Eren said. “If we start like that we'll never get stronger. We'll always be half-strength. And we can't be that. Not if we're going to make it through training. I won't let it come to that.”

“Drink some water,” Mikasa said, handing him a canteen issued by the owners of the shelter.

“You're drowning in your own sweat,” Armin said.

Eren wiped some off his forehead with a sleeve. “I'm fine.”

“You're not fine. Drink some water,” Mikasa said in a sharp voice. She nudged him with the canteen.

With reluctance, Eren took it and had a sip. Once the water traveled through his system, he drank again and didn't stop until the canteen was empty. He gave it back to Mikasa, got to his feet, and started into a jog again.

“Eren, stop,” Mikasa said.

But he kept going—and they breathed out in relief when it was back to their room rather than some more laps around the building. Armin lay down beside him on his side, hands under his head, while Eren glared up at the ceiling. Mikasa sat by, cross-legged, staring at the ground.

“Hey,” Armin said.

Eren did nothing.

“Eren,” he tried again.

The boy's eyelids fluttered.

Armin reached out a hand and set it in the space between them. A few seconds later, Eren put his hand over it, and their fingers interlocked. “It's only day one,” Armin said. “You finished before me anyway, and I've got two flesh legs. They're kind of useless actually.” He chuckled a little. “As I generally am.”

“Shut up,” Eren said.

Armin blinked.

“You've never been useless. Stop putting yourself down. Just fucking stop. None of us would be here without you,” he said. “We all need each other. And I think your legs are great. You have great legs. I . . .” His eyes closed and his cheeks went red. “That didn't . . . I . . .” Redder. And then he laughed. It was really quiet at first, a whisper laugh, and then it grew. Eren turned over onto his side and looked over at Armin. “You're right. It's only day one. I'm going to be a merc. Just have to get my leg to comply. It'll take some convincing, but I'm sure it'll come around. It has no choice.”

“People rarely do if you've got anything to say about it,” Armin said. “And I mean that in a good way.”

“I know,” Eren said. “We're going to be the baddest sons of bitches on the entire continent. Stop the epidemic single-handedly.”

“Yeah,” Armin said with a big smile.

Eren smiled too and then moved onto his back again and closed his eyes. He gave a huge yawn, muttered something incomprehensible, and drifted off into a warm nap.

The smile disappeared from Armin's mouth and eyes. He stared at Eren a moment longer and then sat up. Mikasa was still looking at the ground. After a few seconds, she locked eyes with Armin. Her hand came over and gripped his tightly.

“I don't want you to go,” she whispered.

Armin just stared at her.

She turned to face him better. “Is being in love with him not enough to make you stay? To stay with us and become a merc?”

He swallowed and shook his head.

Mikasa's eyes hardened. “So where are you going to go?”

“Anywhere I can do something. I know a lot of people will resist. Everyone's so wrapped up in negative thinking when it comes to rebuilding society. They've either given up or they're like Eren. The solution is a gun.” Armin sighed. “A gun can't build a hospital. A gun can't put back a civilian governmental structure. Or sow crops. Plow a field. But you know what a gun _can_ do? Fire a bullet. Destroy something. I don't want to destroy. There's been enough destruction. And I don't care if everyone else thinks rebuilding is a pipe dream, at least right now. I'm going to try. I have to. That's who I am.”

“And Eren and I are soldiers?” she said.

Armin shrugged. “You are what you make yourself to be.”

“Eren needs me,” she said. “Or, he needs somebody. And besides you and me, I don't see anyone. If you're going, I have to stay. And I owe him. I still haven't repaid him for saving me.” Her hand reached up and brushed against the red scarf. “As long as I have this on, I'll be there for him. No matter what.”

“Does that make you a better person than me?” Armin asked, his face screwing up.

Mikasa shook her head firmly. “No.”

“At least we have till March, right?” Armin said. He slipped his hand out of Mikasa's and got to his feet. “Are you hungry? I'm going to get our breakfast.” He went to the door and opened it. Mikasa opened her mouth to speak, but he left and shut the door before any more words could escape.

\--

March 1, 2022  
THE NEW TRIO

From the moment you turn 12 they push you to what college you're going to join. Armin never got any of that. But in this new world, college meant nothing. Most of them were shelters. The rest were for research purposes only—to find the cure to the epidemic. So for Armin, the push was always for something else. Be a merc. Join the military. Wield a gun and defend the population. Be a hero rather than a suffering civilian. He'd always said no. Over and over. He even said no to the people he loved most.

But now here he was, on his way to the training center. Really, he had no obligation to stay—that was only the military that made you stay for a certain number of years. For mercs it was different. You either did missions and got rewards for it, or you sat around pretending you were a merc, getting everything by yourself, and in truth, going nowhere. No one could go anywhere in this world without help from someone else. No matter how independent you wanted to be, that did not matter. That was over. The world was a community. Us against the dead.

Armin finally chose this world's version of “college.” He was with Jean and Marco heading to the training center for aspiring mercs. The midwest was his area. So he'd chosen. Maybe once he graduated he'd finally be that real adult society loved so much.

“You're not talking much,” Marco said as they sat in the back of the bouncy army vehicle that was carrying them to the training center. Seven others were in there too, all of them chatty like this was their first day at some kind of summer school camp. Jean was joining in with them too—a debate, actually, about the pros and cons of joining the mercenaries and the military.

“Huh? Oh. I'm fine, don't worry. I just have a lot on my mind,” Armin said. He stared out at Topeka as it faded into the unusually foggy day. Two soldiers stood on the tailgate of the truck, one looking through his binoculars, and the other checking the sights on his rifle. _I can't imagine that's entirely possible to do correctly right now,_ Armin thought. _Perhaps it's his way of passing the time. Wish I had a better way . . ._

“Well . . .” Marco said. “Just think about the training. That's all that matters now. And once you pass that then we can formulate a plan.”

“I don't like going in with that mentality,” Armin said. _I want a plan now. Then think of one Armin. What . . . what do you do from here? What do we all do from right here?_ But when he tried to think about it, every other thought came rushing back in until his brain was just swampland.

Five minutes later the soldier was checking the sights again. And again several minutes after that. Each time the guy's hands shook less and less. Sometimes the guy with the binoculars watched his pal, like it was some kind of calming nature scene to ease tension. Better than the landscape. The foggy, murky flat land. Somewhere out there the undead waited. They knew roads. _This convoy will probably run into some . . . The undead may be stupid, but they're not_ that _stupid_.

“Unfortunately,” Armin whispered.

“Hmm? You say something?” Marco said.

“Of course not. He's stuck in La-La Land,” Jean said, turning his head and pausing the still continuing debate. “Let him be.” He tugged in Marco's sleeve and like a dog, Marco returned to listening to their conversation.

It was thirty minutes from the training center that the convoy stopped. The conversation kept going, but Armin kept his eyes out the back, at the soldiers who listened to their communication devices as someone issues orders. Binocular Guy jumped down and Armin's ears followed his footsteps along the side of the truck until they were sucked up by the distance.

Someone fired a shot up ahead and at once the conversations died.

“What's going on?” someone asked.

Sights Guy's hands began shaking again. “Just stay there.” He pulled the tarp down over the back and everything went black.

Some boy—maybe fourteen—squeaked, and Jean started into a whisper monologue to ease the poor kid's nerves.

Armin slid down to the end and lifted the tarp. Sights Guy was on the ground talking with Binocular Guy quietly, but Armin could just make it all out. He moved back in and slid back to Marco. At the contact, Marco whispered, “What's going on?”

“About fifty undead up ahead,” Armin said. “They're prepping for attack.”

“Here we go!” Someone tinkered with some wires it sounded like and then there was light. A woman had found the lamp at the very back. It cast shadows across all their faces. Armin was still looking at Marco, and the look in his eyes made the freckle king shy away.

Sights Guy popped in. “We'll be moving along shortly. Just stay put. Everything's fine.” Popped out again.

“Jesus Christ,” the boy squeaked again and hunched over, his hands over his ears. The girl beside him patted his back. This time, Jean only stared instead of trying to calm him. There was only so many words before they became useless—if they had been useful at all to begin with. Besides, it'd only be wasting breath at this point.

 _Either you can take it, or you can't,_ Armin thought. And as cruel as it was to say, he felt no guilt for thinking it. If the boy could not handle being in the back of a truck while everyone else fought the zombies, then he definitely couldn't be a merc. The actual sad part was he would have to make his way back to the nearest safe zone by himself. The military only took you to the training center as a courtesy. After that, you were on your own.

They all listened to the boy's whimpering in silence as outside everyone got into position for the approaching horde. Armin stared at the tarp as if he stared long enough, he could see through it. But really it helped him focus his ears on the outside rather than the heartbeats of everyone around him. Rather than the crying. If it got any quieter they'd be able to hear the tears hitting the bottom of the truck.

When the first bullet fired, Armin moved, like a knee-jerk reaction. He moved the tarp away and stepped out onto the tailgate. He watched around the side of the truck as everyone fired towards the horde, a black and grey mass of moaning, snarling bodies, all running full-speed towards the front of the convoy. The sound of bullets waned to almost nonexistence as everyone in the front switched to hand-to-hand combat, leaving only the snipers in the back. Snipers like Sights Guy who wasn't shaking anymore as he popped zombies off one-by-one. The skill with which he did so was slightly terrifying. Cold.

But that's what Armin wanted to be. That calculating, that smooth, that quick. 

Someone grabbed Armin's hand and jerked him back inside. It was a girl across from him, her face stoic. She held onto his hands so tight they lost circulation, but Armin let her hold them. She swallowed. “Stay in here. It's safe in here.”

Unnerved by the look in her eye, he looked away, over at Marco.

It was over quicker than expected. All that fire and manpower, the zombies never had a chance. There'd only been about seventy or so. The military finished them off with a grenade, or maybe just to spite the gory remains. Whatever the case, they started moving again a few minutes later. Sights Guy waited until they were passed the remnants before he lifted the tarp again, just so they could see it. The boy threw up. The girl somehow squeezed Armin's hand tighter.

“I made a mistake,” the boy said. “We all did.”

No one said anything.

When the convoy entered the tentative safety of the training camp and everyone got out. The rest of them watched as the boy spoke to the captain. Told him he needed to go back. And they all watched as the captain told him to go then. And when the boy realized what he meant, he turned and looked out the still-open gate into the foggy wasteland and his face got white.

But he started walking. One step. Two. He trudged out of the gates and as soon as he was out, the wooden gates closed. Armin turned away and looked at Jean and Marco. The three of them nodded.

“Those of you joining the mercenary corps, follow me. I'll take you to your quarters,” Sights Guy said. “I'm Sergeant Church. That there's Captain Zackley. Here, he is God. And God Mark II is your drill instructor Levi Ackerman. He's hard to miss—even shorter than you,” he said with a nod to Armin. Suddenly he straightened up and cleared his throat. “Remember that.” He put his gun around his body. “Move out.”

The barracks was cold. Somehow worse than the shelter. The cots were even stiffer and the blankets scratchier. And they were bolted down. Armin wished he could move them all together, so they could share body heat. Like with Mikasa and Eren. Though, it wouldn't be the same with Jean and Marco.

“Get changed and fall out to the training yard in ten,” Church said and closed the door.

The girl chose the other bunk beside Armin.

“What's your name?” Armin asked.

“Ilse,” she said. “Ilse Langnar. Sorry about your hand.”

He shook it and gave a smile. “Ah, it's nothing. Don't worry about it.”

“This is what we're wearing? Out there?”

Everyone looked at Jean who was exploring the pile of sorted uniforms. The PT gear looked thin and decrepit. At least the shoes were strong-soled. Everyone wandered over and picked out their sizes. Armin looked two times smaller with the PT gear on. He figured half-jokingly it'd make him harder for the zombies to see if they attacked the training camp.

They all fell out into the training yard. Marco was breathing out and watching his breath slowly form a cloud as it got colder and darker outside. Next to him, Jean stood with his arms folded, eyes sharp, observing everything around them. Meanwhile, Armin just rubbed his fingers to keep them warm and soothe the ache of Ilse's iron-fingered grip.

“All right, brats. You're all here?” A black-haired man, indeed shorter than Armin, stood in front of them, dressed all cozy warm, a scarf around his neck that reminded Armin of Mikasa. It was even red. He had his hands in his pockets, but took them out and unwrapped the scarf slowly as he spoke next. “I'm Lieutenant Ackerman. I'm your instructor. You do everything I say for the next six months or you're out. The gate is over there. Have a nice walk home. 

“If you can't pass this training corps, you can't survive as even a freeloading merc. If I meet you again and that's what you are, I won't hesitate to kick your ass from here to the nearest zombie horde. Trust me, they'll be happy to see you. 

“You may not be an official part of the US military, but I'll be damned if you tarnish the name. You're here to train to fight zombies and protect the people of this country. So that's what you'll do. Every day you will wake up at five a.m. sharp and you will run the perimeter seven times, followed by calisthenics, conducted by me today, and henceforth by the head of your platoon, who'll be chosen by me by the end of the day.” 

Levi looked them all over, his eyes lingering over Jean and Ilse the longest. He put his scarf in his pockets and then shed his coat, tossing it over a dummy most likely meant for hand to hand combat training at a later time.

“You have two meals every day. Breakfast is at nine. Dinner at six. All uniforms, gear, bunks, must be clean and orderly every night for inspection. I will not tolerate messiness.” His eyes narrowed. “And one last thing before we get started. Even if you try your hardest, if you do not qualify every week, you are out. The military is for those who do. Not try. Now get on the ground and give me fifty.”

\--

September 1, 2025  
THREE PLUS THREE

They dropped the survivors of the Evanston training camp off at the Salt Lake City way station, stopped at a roadhouse and drank beer as they looked at the walled city skyline framed by the rich green mountains. Jean whistled every five minutes, followed with someone along the lines of, “Damn. Mountains. _Mountains_. I love mountains. I hate not having mountains.”

Marco gave him a sweet smile. “Maybe we should change areas.”

But Jean shook his head. “Nah. Because then when we get to see them it will always be . . . special. You know?” He took a sip of beer and then swung his head to look at Marco. Marco looked back. Stars in their eyes. Might as well have had goddamned angels flying about their heads with lyres that popped out hearts instead of music notes, and that giggled every fucking five seconds.

Armin rolled his eyes, finished his beer, and tossed it into the nearest trash can—it merely fell to the ground because no one had bothered to replaced the can in far too long. It was a haven for bugs. “Insectopia,” he said to himself.

“Insectopia?” Jean asked.

“Oh, I'm sorry, are you two finished staring lovingly into each other's eyes?” Armin asked.

Marco punched his arm.

“Wanna stop back in Evanston. See if we can scrounge anything up?” Jean asked. He too finished his beer and tossed it into the can. Somehow, it hit just right and stayed afloat on top of the mess of garbage at the top of the can. Marco gave him a high five that ended in them holding hands.

On the way north, Jean sat in the passenger seat with his feet up on the dash, tapping his knee and singing, “I left my heart in Salt Lake City. Oh beautiful for spacious purple mountains majesty and freckled cheeks of Marco,” while Jesus laughed uncontrollably beside him.

Armin thought back to Annie and the way she'd looked at him when they'd said goodbye. All right, so it had been an average mostly emotionless look but all the same Armin had framed it and put it on some kind of mental bookshelf. She had a nice face. She was actually just really nice—though Jean would beg to differ, of course. But he didn't understand Annie like Armin did—not that Armin really understood her very much. Or at all, really. He wanted to, though. He wanted to see her again so much.

 _Maybe she'll be in Evanston . . . maybe she'll be there just in case I might be there too . . ._ , Armin thought and then shook his head. _Man, what's wrong with me . . ._

They skirted around Evanston and entered from the north where there were less undead. And the use of guns was prohibited. If there got to be too many to necessitate bullets, that was their queue to get the hell out of there. They drove down a dingy little dirt road and stopped in front of an old farmhouse. With no undead in sight, they jumped out of the Jeep and headed into the house.

A dead zombie lay inside—Jean cut it a few more times to be sure—and then they went searching for any supplies. Most had been taken when the owner's fled—a surprising amount for how quickly most people had to leave their homes. The others stayed in the kitchen discussing cans of food, particularly ones that had expired but could still be potentially edible. Marco was against it, and Jean for it.

Armin let them be, heading down the creaky hallway and to the room at the end. It was small, but warm—the walls were painted a burgundy, and once light and feathery curtains outlined the tiny sliding window. Armin opened it to let some air in, but the air outside was too hot for any relief. At least the sun was on the other side of the house. In one corner, by an old computer desk, nerdy posters covered the walls. Most belonged to various _Star Trek_ series, including the newest movie reboots, and some to games called _Diablo III_ and _Dota 2_. Figurines sat on the desk, dusty, some with bent heads.

He put his gun away and picked up a figure of Daenerys Targaryen, dragons perched on her shoulder. His eyes caught sight of two in the back—Kirk and Spock—and he smiled. Like he did when he was a kid, he bopped their faces together in an action figure kiss. “Pronounce you husband and husband. The gayest couple in all of Starfleet.”

Someone knocked on the side of the door and Armin jumped. The figurines dropped to the desk. Armin swung his head to the side and gave the intruder—an asshole-faced smiling Jean –a sardonic look. He readjusted his gun and turned away from the desk to go looking through the closet.

“Gayest couple in all of Starfleet, huh?” Jean asked, leaning against the door frame. “That's cute.”

“Mmm,” Armin said. He picked up a fat book and wiped the dust away to read the title: _Leningrad_.

“Oh hey, this is the naked dragon chick from that show,” Jean said, and when Armin looked over, Jean was holding Daenerys and moving her arms like he'd never seen an action figure in his life.

Armin sighed and stood up, taking the book with him. “Her name is Daenerys Targaryen and she's a khaleesi. The Mother of Dragons. And I don't know. Something more. The series never finished.”

“Something probably to do with zombies, right?” Jean asked and set Daenerys down. “Touchy, touchy. Forgive me, khaleesi. Whatever that is.” He looked at Armin and turned his head sideways. “Does she remind you of anyone?”

“Huh? No. Why?” Armin went over and picked the figurine up. With a fond stroke of her hair, he put her in his back pocket and gave Jean an innocent look.

Grinning, Jean said, “Think really hard.”

Armin blew out some annoyed air and left the room to go find Marco and the expired cans of food. _Well, now that I think of it, she does kind of remind me of Annie. But that's probably just because they're both strong, and beautiful, and sensitive. Though, Annie tries to hide that last part . . . I'm sure she is. She would make a great khaleesi._

In the kitchen, Marco had set all the findings on the countertop and was writing them down in a notebook. “I think we'll be okay with these ones. But these are way too old. Better not risk it. You know? You check all the rooms?”

“No,” Armin said.

From the hallway came Jean's voice: “I am, I am.”

Marco bit his lip and put the notebook away. “It's not as much as I'd hoped.”

“There's four more houses on this street,” Armin said. “Technically, there's hundreds of houses out there.”

“Rule number one: never outstay your welcome.” Marco opened his pack and put the food in one by one.

Armin watched him. “Yeah? What welcome.”

Marco smiled.

“Nothing else much,” Jean said, walking back in. “I have a feeling whoever lived here is still alive. They knew what they were doing. What to take.” He pulled out his gun. “We should knock off one or two zombies while we're here. Just for fun.”

“Fun?” Marco said weakly.

“We're getting what we need and leaving,” Armin said. “We should get back to Sioux Falls and get our next mission.”

“Also, khaleesi might be there,” Jean said.

“Who?” Marco blinked.

Armin gave Jean a dry stare and then headed back out into the sunlight. A movement to his right caught his eye. He lazily turned his head and observed a zombie waltzing—in one of the worst waltzes Armin had ever seen—down the street towards Armin. It had probably been attracted by the sound of the Jeep engine and decided to join the party. Armin pulled his machete out of its sheathe, swung it around once, and started casually walking towards the creature.

“Hello there,” he called.

“Hey, Armin what're you doing?” Jean asked.

Armin waved his machete in the air. “Saying hello.”

“Ah. Say hello for me as well!” Marco bid.

The zombie was especially ugly. One female with long blonde hair that was now stringy and she hadn't seen a hairstylist in far too long. Some goopy stuff dripped down her chin and chest and pooled onto her bulging stomach. That sweater must have been expensive. And bought in winter. She was obviously confused—that, or sweater happy—since it was a scorching 98 degrees out in direct sunlight and she was wearing winter clothes.

“Hello,” Armin said as he got closer. “Would you happen to know where the nearest well-supplied building? My friends and I need to know for a thing.”

She moaned. With a hint of a snort-like snarl.

“I'm sorry. I only speak Japanese and English. Might be a bad assumption, but I don't think you speak Japanese. Wakarimashita ka?” Again with a snarl. “I'm afraid we've reached an impasse. I hate to do this to you, but it's for your own good. That sounds terrible, sorry. But . . .” He stopped. “I do like your sweater. Was probably a good color on you. Blue and blonde generally are.” _Annie would look incredible in that sweater._

The zombie reached out her hands.

Armin sliced through them easily and as she snarled in fury, he slammed his foot into her gut and she fell back into the ground. He rounded to her head and then sliced the machete through half her neck. One more hack and the head was severed. He put his foot on the head and then smashed down, watching the blood ooze out from the neck and any orifice it could.

“That was cold,” Marco said as he walked over.

“Maybe,” Armin said, staring down at her. _I am sorry. I'm sure you had a wonderful life before this happened to you._ He sighed. It was always harder when there weren't so many. Easier to focus. To picture who they might have been before they got the disease.

Jean joined them and looked down with indifference. “That's a nice sweater.”

“Isn't it?” Armin agreed in a nearly inaudible voice.

Marco shook his head. “Next house?”

Jean kicked the zombie's foot a little. “I'll make sure it's dead.” He pulled out an ax and walked over to the severed neck and head. “If you please, Armin.”

Armin removed his foot and watched as Jean hacked again and again at the body and head until there wasn't much left to hack. The sweater's color was lost under a sea of goop and blood. Jean wiped the ax off on her pants and then put it over his shoulders.

“Ah, overkill. Literally. Or maybe not. Since it wasn't really alive to begin with. I don't know what the hell it is.” Jean kicked her again in satisfaction and headed back to the Jeep.

“I'll walk,” Armin said and finally tore his eyes away from the zombie. _Annie could end up like that. Not even she's invincible._

The next three houses came up rather dry, already picked clean by other looters. Marco did stumble across a hidden cellar with extra ammo—none they could use, but “delicious and marketable” as Jean put as he ran his hands lovingly over the boxes. 

“Maybe it's the ammo you want to marry?” Marco joked.

“Maybe,” Jean said. And then when Marco tried to escape with fake hurt, Jean grabbed his arm and pecked him on the cheek—correction, he tried to peck him on the cheek, but things happened, such as moving too fast, and lack of coordination, and he ended up kissing Marco's ear lobe.

Marco laughed and escaped upstairs.

“Wait.” Jean blinked and looked up at Marco and Armin. “What are we waiting for exactly? We should get married as soon as we get back to Sioux Falls. Find whoever we have to find and just do it. There's . . . no reason why not to. No reason to wait.” He grinned again. “Unless you have second thoughts, and in that case, it's the ammo for me.”

“I'm sure that's illegal somewhere,” Armin said.

Jean winked and then handed some ammo up to them. “But really . . . Marco?”

Marco nods with zeal. “I was thinking the same thing, actually.”

“Just proof why we need to get married,” Jean said. He grabbed some more boxes and handed them up. “Oh. But we don't need to get a priest or anything . . . I mean, what's important is . . .”

“A priest is great if we can find one, Jean,” Marco said softly.

Jean smiled up at him.

Behind them, Armin heard the back porch squeak. He pulled out his machete and put a finger to his lips. He motioned for Jean to stay where he was, and then wiggled a finger for Marco to follow him. Together they walked as silently as possible over the old saggy floors towards the back door and the porch. They stopped in the hallway and Armin peeked out around the corner. There were four zombies, all on the porch. Only one was uselessly clawing at the doorknob to the sliding glass door. Armin and Marco swapped looks.

While Marco stayed there, Armin headed to the front door and outside. It was easier to stay quiet on the dry grass as he rounded the house. At the back, he looked around the corner. They were still there, the zombies, with no progress made. Armin pulled out a small knife and held it up, aiming for the zombie nearest him. Squinting his eyes, he aimed and moved his hand back.

He heard a noise behind him. _Shit._ He turned just as two zombies came down on him—they'd probably been behind that old trailer when he'd come around. The knife released, digging into the head of the closest one. Then came the machete, up and smoothly through the zombie's side. Armin pulled it out and then back rolled away. When he came back up, he lifted an arm to block a zombie's hand and kicked them in the gut, right into the one who'd befriended the knife. Armin finished them both as they were stunned and then turned back to the porch zombies.

Marco had already dispatched two, and was working on a third. With Armin's help, they went down easily. They high-fived and then Marco returned to Jean to finish with the ammo while Armin kept watch. There had to be more of them around. He ran back to the Jeep and turned on the RADAR. There was a small group, maybe about ten, moving towards their position slowly from the southeast.

A few seconds later, Marco and Jean came running out of the house, lugging the ammo with them. Armin got in the driver's seat and started up the engine. Once all cargo was aboard, he kicked it into gear and sped out of there.

“There they are,” Marco said from the back, holding up binoculars and looking down to the far end of the street. “I think they were all grouped over by that park. I think I can see a few more middling around.” He sunk back in the seat. “That was fun.”

“Hell yeah it was,” Jean said. He elbowed Armin. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Armin said. “Nothing new.”

“So,” Jean said loudly. “We're getting married. Armin will be my best man of course.”

“Can he be mine too?” Marco asked.

“Why you asking me?” Jean said with a shrug.

“I can be both of yours best man,” Armin said.

“Hey if those Reiner and Berthold people are there, they can join in too. I think they'd want to. They seemed to type to enjoy something like that,” Jean said.

Armin looked at him in surprise.

“What?” Jean said defensively. “They're not bad. I mean, I don't fully trust them, but they're not bad. For other mercs. And you know, your khaleesi would be there too. Win win for everyone, right?”

“Okay someone please tell me who this khaleesi is?” Marco asked.

Armin blushed.

“That Leonhart chick,” Jean said.

Marco blinked.

“Armin's got a thing for her,” Jean clarified. “And khaleesi is some nerdy thing. Cuz Armin's a nerd and such.”

“Is that right?” Marco asked with a huge smile.

Armin's blush deepened. “I . . . maybe . . . yes. I don't know. You've seen her.”

“I have. She's very . . . nice. And she is very pretty,” Marco said.

Armin nodded enthusiastically. “She's gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. I . . . hope we see her again.” _And I know we're going to see her again._

Jean playfully gripped his shoulder. “Khaleesi.”

He smiled. “Khaleesi.”

September 3, 2025

Jean had called in to Sioux Falls the day they saw that giant horde. At least they'd had that time to prepare. But even now, almost two weeks later, smoke still rose from the outer edges. The Jeep crawled through the half-broken western gates, past the blood-stained land and the remnants of where the zombies hit hardest. They pulled into the depot and Marco offered to trade the ammo for things they needed while Jean went to get new orders. Armin drove the Jeep to the nearest garage, two boxes of ammo for the repairs trade with him. The mechanic threw in a beer and Armin stood outside the garage, occasionally sipping, and watching everyone mill about the area.

“It wasn't as bad as it could've been,” a voice nearby said.

Armin looked over at a woman with brown hair in a messy bun and a lot of freckles, a beer in her hand as well, probably waiting for the same thing as he was. “Someone called it in.” She took a long drink, and Armin watched her throat move. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Damn good thing they did.”

“Yeah,” Armin murmured.

She gave him an unimpressed up-down. “How long you been a merc?”

“Three years. Almost to the day by a month,” he said. “What about you?”

The woman gave a toothy grin that for some reason Armin didn't know—since he had just met her—seemed rather uncharacteristic for her. “I don't know. Maybe five years. Time gets lost on me rather easily. No point in keeping track. I just notice the seasons. Be sad to see summer go. Fucking hate winter.” She took a drink again. “This beer sucks too.” She finished it and gave it to Armin. “Take it.”

“Why?” he said, blinking a lot.

“Anything can be of use. Gotta be creative as a merc. Hell, gotta be creative if you're anyone nowadays. You should know that.” She looked at his beer. “Are you going to finish that?”

Armin looked at his half-drunk beer and then handed it to her.

She finished it and gave the bottle back. “Yep, still awful. My girl's waiting for me. Maybe I'll see you around, Aryan coconut. Or maybe I won't. What's your name?”

“Armin Arlert,” he said. “You?”

“Just call me Ymir,” she said and walked back into the garage.

Jean came and found him five minutes later. He looked at the bottles in Armin's arms and asked, “Recycle? Being green?”

“I . . .” Armin looked at the bottles. “They could come in handy. Never know.”

Jean shrugged in agreement. “Let's find my fiancee, hold a wedding, and go celebrate by getting wasted. That ammo oughta buy us a case of something terrible plus a good meal.”

Anybody you asked almost laughed when they heard the trio was looking for a priest. Someone said there might be a justice of the peace, but that was about it. They could settle for that—Jean was all for it, but Marco insisted they keep looking. But by the time they'd traded all they'd needed, saving some extra ammo for booze and a meal, only that one justice of the peace was the solution.

“Let's go find him,” Jean said. “They said he's in the south quarter by the park.”

“I know. But we're in no hurry. Maybe someone knows a priest in a nearby city. There's still got to be some around. I know there is. We just have to keep looking,” Marco said.

Jean took his arms. “Marco. I don't need a priest. What matters is that we're married.”

Marco sighed. “You sure?”

“Do I have to start making out with you in public?” Jean said.

A little smile appeared. “Okay. Okay. Let's go find him.”

He lived in a decrepit apartment above an old shop now used as a brothel. They made their way through quickly and up the hot stairs to the two doors at the top. They picked one by chance, but it was . . . occupied. So they tried the other and an elderly man opened it and glared at them.

“What? I'm not a part of the brothel. Go away,” he said and almost shut the door.

“No--” Jean said, catching the door. “We're looking for a justice of the peace.”

The door creaked open a little. The man squinted at them. They all leaned back a little. The old man laughed. A full-bellied raucous laugh. Then he ushered them in with a hand. Timidly, they did so, and he planted them on the one couch in the room. He stood in front of them, like a father scolding his boys—still laughing—and shaking his head.

“Uh . . .” Armin started.

The man held up a hand and didn't lower it until he'd contained himself. “Justice of the peace. I haven't married anyone in over ten years. No one really gives a damn about it anymore. And if they do, I'm not a good enough. Always a priest. Always. Yeah, last priest I heard of was all the way up in Ontario and that bastard's probably dead by now. Seven years ago and he was older than me.” He chortled. “You really want a justice of the peace, eh? Who's getting married? You too?” He pointed to Armin and Marco. “Good couple.”

Jean stared at him dryly.

“No, sir, it's those two,” Armin said.

The justice looked at Jean and then at Marco. “He doesn't look good enough for you.”

Jean looked so offended.

But Marco just lightly laughed. “He's not. But I still love him. What can you do, huh?”

The old man laughed with him. “Yeah, yeah. I get that. I do. Look you,” he said firmly to Jean, who snapped to attention with wide eyes. “If I hear anything about you taking advantage of this fine young man, I will throw you to the zombies, you hear! I know a scoundrel when I see one. But I'm not one to go against the wishes of your . . . fiancee . . . unless I see something amiss. Innocent until proven guilty, that's what they always say, right?”

“A scoundrel?” Jean said almost inaudibly.

“Yeah, he is,” Marco said.

Jean gave Marco an offended look at well.

“And you are the poor soul who has to put up with them, is that it?” the man asked Armin.

Armin smiled. “Y-yeah. I am. It's really difficult . . .”

“Ha ha, I bet. Well, let's get this show on the road,” the man said.

“Right here? Right now?” Jean asked.

“Well, we can go downstairs if you want a bigger audience or something.”

“Married . . . in a brothel,” Jean said, dumbfounded.

“It's different, I'll give you that,” Armin said.

“My house is NOT a part of that brothel!!” The man put a hand to his forehead. “I was here first. But the shopkeeper sold her shop, went out of business. So they moved in. Oh Christ, if my Eliza was still around. I can't even imagine.”

Jean gave him a sick look. “I'm going to get married to the sound of people having sex across the hall. That's not exactly the music I was looking for.”

Marco stood up and pulled Jean to his feet. “All that matters is you and me, right? Oh and you too, Armin. Got to have our best man.”

“Then you stand too,” the man commanded and up Armin went. “Right. Now.” He cleared his throat. “Take each other's hands please.” They did. For a moment, they all just stood there as the justice remembered the words while the sounds of love making seeped through the thin walls. And Jean's face got redder and redder and Armin felt more and more like laughing and of course Marco probably didn't hear a thing—he just smiled away, glowing, staring at Jean like he was the only thing in the room.

“All right, damn the words. Say your vows,” the man finally said. “The nice one first.”

Marco took a deep breath. “Jean . . . The day I heard you say Marco Butt I knew that I would know you for the rest of my life. However long that may be. You encouraged me like no one else. And I'd probably still be stuck in that shelter, a nobody, if I hadn't met you. If you hadn't sought me out. Tried to make friends with me. I was shy. I never talked to anyone if I didn't have to. But I'm glad we talked. So glad. And scoundrel you may be, and you may snore so badly I usually can't sleep, and you sweat way too much when we . . . oh sorry, that was personal.” He chuckled nervously while Jean stared at him, mortified. “Anyway, even with all that, I love you. And I will love you eve when you're old and wrinkly and still annoying and complaining about young hooligans like I know you will, because it's you. And you are everything.” He took another breath and let it out.

Meanwhile, Jean just stared with his mouth open. Eventually he got control of himself. “How am I supposed to follow that?”

“It's not a contest,” Marco said.

“Right, right. You're right.” He straightened up. “Marco Butt. Freckle King. Jesus Christ. I'm so glad I know the location of each and every one of your freckles. And I'm glad you're okay with marrying me because goddamn, I am so in love with you it's probably gross to everyone else. But whatever. Fuck everyone else. I love you. I want to marry you. And I too will love you, even when your freckles sag. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, amen to us.”

Armin laughed and then stopped himself. The justice eyed him carefully.

“Then, with the powers given to me by the state of . . . the state of . . . let's see, I was in Texas, then Alabama before that. But then there was that call from a friend, so I left Delaware . . . Oh but then there was that chicken hunt . . . Ah yes. With the powers given to me by the state of Vermont, I hereby wed thee husband and husband. You may now do what lovers do. When they are in the presence of others and not above a brothel.”

Marco wrapped his arms around Jean's neck and then kissed him and Jean smiled.

“Now go party my young friends. I need to sleep. Wonder where I put my ear plugs . . . Oh and if anyone needs a marriage, send them my way! I'll be here.” He saluted and then literally pushed them out the door. It shut behind them and they listened to him lock it.

“We're married,” Marco said. “You're my husband.”

“You're my husband,” Jean said in wonder.

“Yes, yes. Let's go before someone drafts us into one of these rooms,” Armin said.

“What if khaleesi is in--”

“Stop stop. Keep going,” Armin said quickly and pushed them towards the stairs.

“You do realize you just told me to stop and then keep going,” Jean said.

Armin gave him an annoyed look.

Their favorite bar was open and rambunctious. Someone was singing a cliché country song while they played a beat up guitar. The trio chose a corner table nearest the stage, and Armin left the newlyweds to themselves while he ordered at the counter. In the end, their booty got them a case of some cheap Canadian whiskey, twelve scrambled eggs with extra salt, seven sausage links, and some nearly expired beans—but no ordinary beans: Bush's Baked Beans. With a little added Jack Daniels, Armin thought he heard.

He returned ten minutes later to the table with their reward. They all poured some shots, toasted to Jean and Marco, and dug into the food.

By the time they had finished the food and were settling into a tipsy haven, a woman had replaced the stage. She stood alone, no instrument, no anything. Just herself. Her eyes scanned the room with a quick shy swipe and then with eyes to the floor, she opened her mouth and sang. It was too quiet to hear at first, even for Armin and he was rather near the stage. But as the din of the customers settled down to hear, her confidence grew, and her volume increased.

The song was gentle cover of “Feel Good, Inc.,” perfect to settle the bar into sleepy, peaceful nighttime hours. And she was good. A little off here and there of course, but even those little mistakes, when her voice break maybe from stage fright, sounded so perfect to Armin. And the newlyweds, they leaned into each other, Jean's head on Marco's shoulder—eyes closed and lips mouthing along with the song while Marco just swayed his head in rhythm.

Halfway through the song, Jean's head came back up and his lips connected with the skin on Marco's neck. And then again. Armin leaned forward and quietly suggested, “Maybe you two should head back to the Jeep. Or trade in some of the whiskey we have left for a room to stay in for the night. Yeah?”

Jean nodded his head and kept on kissing Marco's neck.

Armin scooted his chair back and stood up.

“Where you going?” Marco asked.

“To go reserve a room for you two. Don't worry about it. Just go to the merc inn down the street,” Armin said with a smile.

“Thanks,” Marco said.

Armin slipped out of the bar into the quiet night air and let out a long pleasant breath. He took his time walking to the inn, savoring each step on the cracked asphalt, wondering who dropped this piece of trash, and what had been going through their mind when they let it lay to waste on the road. It was comforting, thinking about people as they took strolls down this road. The road was safe, deep in the heart of Sioux Falls, and everybody who walked down it knew that. They could at least walk these steps without stress, without fear. Just feeling the stretch in their limbs, the free movement of air around their bodies. Maybe even the pleasure of seeing another face just as calm as theirs was.

A couple of mercs, guns around their bodies, holding hands, waved to Armin as they passed. He glanced back and saw them enter the bar. The woman was probably still singing that song. Hopefully she'd give an encore.

The lady in the inn thanked Armin for the alcohol and reserved a room for him for twelve hours. Afterward, Armin headed back through the streets to the Jeep, settling in the back seat, head back, and watching the stars. If you could give a pro to the zombie apocalypse, it'd be the ability to see the stars. Lights were kept dim if they had to be on at all, which meant little to no light pollution, and a hell of a view. One he never got to see when he was younger. Even now, after years of seeing the glittery dots in the sky, they still amazed him. They'd probably never get old. Not even when he did.

Around midnight the Milky Way fully appeared in the sky. Jean and Marco were probably in their room by now having as much of a honeymoon as they could. Images entered Armin's mind and he pushed them away frantically before they got too explicit. He pulled out the Daenerys figure and held it up against the colored band in the sky. Maybe next time he saw Annie he'd give it to her—soon as he thought that, embarrassment flooded over him and he put the figure back.

 _I should just give it to a kid. Even if they won't know who she is . . . Yeah . . . I'll do that._ He closed his eyes. _But wherever you are, Annie, khaleesi, I hope you're safe._


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Zhiganshina trio stumbles across something in a field, there are miles to be run, a proposition is proposed, and HBO is probably basically almost like watching porn a lot of the time.

February 21, 2014  
THE BEGINNING

Still no humans in sight. It had been too long and Armin was starting to worry—not that he hadn't been, of course. There were just so many things to worry about. Being alone was first and foremost on his mind. Second was their families and the people back in St. Louis. There was a smattering of smaller, more specific ones—that mostly applied to his travel partners, Mikasa and Eren. And now he wondered if there was anyone left. Had they all died? How long would it take for the disease to spread?

Someone had to have known. People planned for things like these. So somewhere, there had to be at least one person in some kind of bunker with supplies for a lifetime. Their time had finally come. But would they be inviting to house guests? Add a body and supplies cut in half. Keep adding them and suddenly that once huge pile of supplies for the apocalypse looked incredibly small and short-lasting.

Add in the fact these people would be hiding well, and Armin's worries shot up to a distance like the one between Earth and the moon. They needed to find people fast or he might go crazy.

“Where are we going?” Armin asked, because Mikasa was the one leading them forward. With so much to worry about otherwise, he'd left all the travel plans for the moment to her. But after so long without outside contact, he had to know.

“Nashville,” she said. “I think my mom once said I had cousins there.”

“What if they're gone too?” Armin asked.

Mikasa's fingers curled into a fist against her thigh, but she kept her tone steady and complacent. “Then there's others. There'll always be others.”

Eren slowed his pace so he and Armin could walk side by side. He gripped Armin's shoulder tightly. “As long as we have us three, we can make it through anything.” The boy had grown stronger the past few days, as opposed to Armin. With every step, his resolve became stronger. Maybe it was the distance away from the memories back in St. Louis, as if the physical air was letting the power of those memories fade until logic and sense and control—albeit, the Eren-style of sense—could once again steer his actions. He hadn't moped since that night in the shed, when Mikasa told Armin what happened.

It was the military, Armin figured. The thought that one day he would be holding a gun, no longer a defenseless child, the head of his own entire vengeful life, had sparked up the confidence in him. Eren never gave up. And he sure as hell did not let any doubts he may have sprinkle into the people around him. He motivated people. He cheered them up. He did whatever he had to get them up and moving.

And he was right. With the three of them, they could make it through anything. Armin could not ask for better companions. Together, with Mikasa's skill, Eren's resolve, and Armin's brain, they would make it through. Even if this lasted the entirety of their lives, no matter how long, their completed triangle would push away any and all resistance. They would always be.

“Besides, we have a world to travel, don't we? All the plans we made,” Eren said. “We're gonna do them. We're gonna stop this whole thing and come out on top. And then no one will be able to stop us. We'll be able to do whatever we want to.”

Armin smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

“Of course you do!” Eren grinned and walked his usual pace again—his hand casually slid off of Armin's shoulder. “Can't we use the roads, though, Mikasa?”

“No,” Mikasa said.

“From what I saw, the . . . zombies seem to act on instinct,” Armin said. The two looked back at him and his ears turned pink. “Human and animal. They want food. But back in the city, did you notice, they know how doors work. And cars. They liked to stay on the sidewalks. I think that a part of them still knows what it is to be human, at least in some physical sense. Mikasa's right. We should stay away from roads.”

Eren frowned. “Then shouldn't we avoid houses and sheds too?”

Armin shook his head. “It's true they'll probably go towards houses. But we can't go on without shelter. We just have to be extra careful, is all.”

 _What would Kirk and Spock do?_ He bowed his head and brought his body in. _That's stupid. It doesn't matter. They're not real. This is what's real. We just have to figure it out on our own. No one can help us right now._

The others stopped so abruptly Armin almost ran into Mikasa. He brought his hands up on her back to avoid a collision. His mouth opened to ask what the problem was, but then he saw for himself. Slowly, he moved to Mikasa's side and stared out over the field before them. _No . . ._ His hand came up to his mouth, shutting off any escape for the vomit that erupted from the pit of his stomach. Cringing, he swallowed it down and clutched his mouth tighter.

 _Two . . . four . . . six . . . ei . . ._ He counted them in his head. The bodies. They lay all over the field, all dead. Some half-eaten, some . . . practically devoured. _Sixteen . . . eighteen . . . t-twenty . . ._

Nearest them lay a girl, no older than them, a backpack still in her hand, a shiny black shoe on one foot. She lay on her back, torso ripped open, foggy blue eyes staring into the sky. Most of her was gone. Now she was just a cavity encased in bone. _Twenty-eight . . . thirty . . . thirty-two . . . thirty . . . thirty-four . . ._

The mother, most likely, was the woman a few feet away. She'd only been half eaten, her neck pulled out, the flesh on her arms gone. But her long-fingered hands, the nails painted red, remained intact. Somehow hardly any blood touched them. They looked so pristine and other-wordly amid the slaughter. There was a ring too, pink-gold with a huge triangle diamond. It was probably worth some good money. _Forty-two . . . forty-four . . . and . . . and forty-five._

Mikasa took the first step. To the girl with one shoe. She crouched down and put her hand on a bloodied cheek. And her thumb just stroked the skin. From here, Armin could see her lips move, but whatever she was saying was too quiet for them to pick up.

Beside him, Eren stood with wide eyes, frozen. Armin had never seen his eyes so big.

Armin's limbs unglued themselves from the spot and moved to the woman with the ring. He knelt down in squishy cold ground and lifted her hand. Her skin was soft, like Armin remembered his mother's hands being before she died. Tears stung the corners of his eyes and he fought to keep them there, but the longer he held her hand, the harder it became until finally they just spilled out and he hunched over, forehead against her hand, sobbing too loudly.

The sound of a zipper pulled him out of it. He looked over and Mikasa had taken a hold of the girl's backpack and opened it. “There's water. Some snacks.” She pulled out a long white and yellow packaged cylinder, the size of a finger. “Tampon.” Mikasa clutched it tightly for a second and then put it back in. She got to her feet and threw the backpack over one arm.

“What are you doing?” Eren asked, barely containing his rage.

“We need stuff,” Mikasa said. “We can't keep going like this. And they'll just turn to trash here.”

Eren gave her an offended look. “Don't you have any respect for them!? You can't just take their stuff and keep going like nothing happened here!”

Armin looked away from them at the lady's hand. At the diamond ring. Maybe someone would take it. Trade it for something good. _Is that terrible to think?_

“Course I do. But if we're going to make it to Nashville we need all this,” Mikasa said. “You should look around at the others.”

“No. We'll be okay,” Eren asked, walking towards her, his hands in fists.

She glanced at them. “If you won't do it, fine. But I will.”

He stopped near her, shaking in anger. “I won't let you do that.”

Mikasa put the other strap on. “It's not your choice to make.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked and lifted a fist.

Armin gasped as he watched Mikasa's hand flash in the air, backhanding Eren across his left cheek. The boy twisted away and fell onto his knees. He sat there on all fours in shock, panting. A moment later, he turned and gaped at his adopted sister.

She readjusted the back on her shoulders. “Your mom would be furious if she heard you say that.”

The fight drained out of Eren's body and he relaxed his muscles, body slumping. “I . . . can't do it, Mikasa.”

“Yes you can,” she said, crouching down by him and holding his cheek. “We have to.”

When he looked up, tears streamed down his face. “We can't just leave them here,” he growled. “We can't.”

Mikasa put her forehead to his and then stood up. She just ended it there and began scrounging the dead for any supplies.

Armin looked back at the ring. With a deep breath, he tenderly took a hold of either side and then slipped it off. He put it in his pocket and got to his feet. When he looked over, Eren stared at him like he didn't even know who he was. Armin mustered all his strength to ignore him and help Mikasa.

Most of the people had little, probably running off in a frenzy like they had. He did manage to find some pain killers, a ticking watch, seven water bottles—Arrowhead, the best kind—some baby formula he took in case they came across any babies, some cheap black gloves, clean underwear, and some matches. He had never lit a match before. He stared at the box, wondering what it was like to start a fire. To have the power to start that reaction. His grandpa had never let him touch them. Too dangerous, he always said. Everything was too dangerous now.

He also found some cigarettes, which he took in case anyone wanted to trade for them. It frightened him how easily he switched to that mentality. To knowing what people liked and how he could use that to trade for survival gear for himself and his friends. A month ago he would have looked at those cigarettes no more than two seconds, with only one thought running through his mind: those will kill me, I need to stay away.

Now he thought _these could save me, I need to take them_.

They—Mikasa and Armin—looked over every one of those forty-five bodies and returned to the forty-sixth, Eren still on the ground, face pulled together in thought. When he heard their footsteps he looked up at them and then lifted something to show: a black shoe. The other one. The strap had broken. Mikasa took it from his hands and then crouched down to put it back on the girl's naked foot.

“I have shoes like those at home,” she said. “She must have bought them at the same place.”

Eren, face pale, just looked away. Armin offered him an arm up, but Eren got up himself—stumbling a little as he did so—and started off across the field in an almost drunken manner. The others followed after him—Armin once he looked one last time at the girl and her mother. Then Mikasa put an arm around his shoulders and he looked forward. He had to keep looking forward.

 

December 1, 2025

Three Plus Three

Three whole months of practically non-stop zombie-hunting and supply-scrounging had them feeling like the oldest and most exhausted of creaky men. They had their first hot shower in those three months, courtesy of the military, and by God, after washing with cold water in cold weather, this was indeed heaven and the Rapture had come earlier than expected. Of course, the Rapture didn't apply to Armin, Marco, and Jean. And they knew that because _everyone_ had told them they were going to Hell. Maybe about seventy times. So they'd accepted it, because honestly, they didn't give a fuck anymore, and instead reveled in the thoughts of what Hell might include.

“At least it's probably warm there!” Jean said in the next stall over as he stuck his face directly under the shower. “Not as cold as fakey white Jesus' ass cheeks. Forgive me God for I have sinned. But I was insulting fake Jesus, not real Jesus, so cut me some slack okay?” He laughed and then ran his hands through his tangly hair. “Doesn't matter since I'm going to Hell, anyway, though, right? Maybe that was enough to bump me up to the express lane.”

Marco rolled his eyes.

Jean moved his face out of the stream and leaned his elbows on the wall separating him from Marco. “Why are we in different stalls again?”

“Because we can't share one. It'll be too cold,” Marco said. “I want this all to myself.”

Jean whimpered. “But babe.”

“No.” Marco said and splashed some water at him.

“Well,” he said, slapping the barrier and returning to his stream of water. “At least we get seven nights in warm beds and a guaranteed breakfast every single fucking morning. The military's not screwing around when they say they'll reward you good if you do all the shit they want done in their specified amount of time. Like damn.” His hand drifted towards the wall, seeking out the soap in the blind. Armin reached over, grabbed the soap and nudged his hand with it. “Thanks,” Jean said and lathered up his body. “But fuck me if it wasn't as hard as the shit I took this morning.”

Armin groaned. “Oh God, Jean, please.”

Jean laughed. “It was killer. Consider yourself lucky you were off scouting.”

“I had to deal with his moaning. And not the sexy kind either,” Marco sighed.

“All my moans are sexy,” Jean said. “And you will come to realize this one day.”

“No. I really won't,” Marco said.

Jean turned to Armin and stuck a thumb in Marco's direction. “As opposed to this guy who poops with the grace of a thousand fucking angels.”

“What?” Marco said in shock.

Of course, Jean laughed again. Just as loud and nasally and obnoxious as the first time.

Armin rinsed off his soap and then turned the faucet off. He wrung out his hair and went to get a towel.

“What? You're done already? We have ten whole minutes of hot water, Arlert,” Jean called, pooling some water in his hands and then dumping it on his head. “It's only been four minutes. That's a normal shower. You can't take a normal shower here.”

“I don't want to waste water. I did what I needed to do,” Armin said. He did want to stay for the full ten minutes. Oh God, he did. But it could be used for others. Those six remaining minutes of his shower time could be divided between two or three other people. And it would mean the world to them. So Armin would let them have that. That's what he wanted, people happy, more than anything.

“I'll catch you guys later,” Armin said as he toweled off. “I'm going to go take a walk. Maybe get a drink. Take care of the trading . . .”

“Fine, fine,” Jean said. “You do that. Have fun. Stay safe.”

Armin nodded and nodded as he pulled on his freshly washed clothes—another reward from the military. “You too. Please.”

After the hot shower, the cold air bit like a motherfucker. Armin wrapped his new scarf he'd picked up on the very last supply hunt, all the way around the bottom half of his face—with a little curved over the top of his ears—and walked towards the depot gates that led to the civilian sector of the city. Just as he was about to pass through, a pick-up truck caught his eye. Normally he'd have kept walking—most mercs drove crappy old rust buckets like that—but something blonde and big lit up some kind of sign in his brain.

When he gave it a better look, he realized he recognized those broad shoulders. The blond hair. And the brunet stick figure beside it. Reiner and Berthold. Unloading their truck. Berthold said something and Reiner bust a gut, his hand slapping down on Berthold's shoulder which almost made the poor guy drop the crate of ammo in his arms. Luckily, Armin, who had broke into a joke the moment he recognized them, caught the edge of the crate.

“Oh thanks—hey!” Berthold said with a bright smile. “Armin right?”

“Yeah,” Armin said, lowering the scarf. “You just get in?”

Reiner jumped down beside him. “Sure did. We were up near the Canadian border for a few weeks tailing some zombies. Apparently one of them was the daughter of some gross old rich man in Michigan, right? So we tracked her down, killed her friends—she was hanging with the wrong crowd and all, and her dad wants her safe, right?--and Annie is just dropping her off now. She's all tied up in a bag, sleeping like a rock, half-decomposed, and ready to say hello to her father. Who will most likely put a bullet in her head and then creepily preserve her body like a mummy or some shit, I dunno. People these days right?” He made a crazy face and shrugged.

“Right,” Armin said. “How interesting.”

“She's got a killer left hook,” Reiner said. “So yeah, I'd say she's a pretty interesting gal. And what about you? Those two assholes get hitched yet?”

Armin smiled. “Yeah. In September.”

“Oh ho ho, didn't waste any time, I see,” Reiner said. “Is it completely unlivable with them?”

“Ah, I'm used to it,” Armin said with a shrug.

“You can complain to us,” Berthold insisted.

Armin put his hands up. “Honestly, there's nothing to complain about. It doesn't bother me.”

“If you say so. How long you gonna be in town?” Reiner asked.

“At least a week. We've just been out for almost three straight months,” Armin said.

Reiner winced and groaned. “Oh God, you agreed to one of those extended assignments for the good stuff, didn't you?” He leaned against the truck and glanced at Berthold with narrowed eyes. “We did one of those, like what, not last summer, but the summer before?”

The brunet nodded. “Sounds about right.”

“Jesus Christ, that monster took four fucking months,” Reiner said. “Looking back, it wasn't worth it. But damn, it felt like it at the time. So enjoy the next week, my friend. Enjoy it to the last fucking drop.”

“I will,” Armin said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” Reiner said.

“Is Annie going to be back soon?”

“No idea. She said she was gonna go talk to someone across town after she dropped Lady Zombie off.” He gave a mischievous smile. “You want the address?”

 _Yes,_ Armin thought instantly but he shrugged and said, “Nah. I was just curious. Are you going to be in town for long?”

Berthold gave the ammo crate to Reiner and then got a new one from the truck bed. “Just a day or two. We're running low on supplies. This last one we didn't get too much, so we have to go out again soon to get back on track.”

“Yeah,” Reiner said, easily holding the create under one arm. “But look, it's no trouble. In case we don't see each other again, Annie said she was going to some professor who used to teach at Harvard or something, I don't know. Said he lived somewhere near the south gate by an old museum. So maybe you can check it out.” He winked and then headed off with the ammo crate.

Berthold waved and followed after him.

“Museum . . . professor.” Armin rocked on his heels. “I'd just be annoying if I went and saw her. Like I'm stalking her or something. But I . . .” He put his scarf back up. “Just a girl. She doesn't even really like me.” He stared as a long scratch in the side of the pick-up, made by something the size of an ax blade. Or maybe Reiner just got really angry. “She probably forgot who I am. I mean, Reiner and Berthold only remembered because they . . . because they liked Marco and Jean together so much and I just happened to be there too so they associate me with them and . . .” He put a hand on the side of his face, took a sharp deep breath, and then let it all out through his nose. “I've seen lots of girls. Lots of girls . . . But never a second time really.” He cleared his throat and straightened up. “There are more important things. And I'm not really ready, am I? Shit. I don't know, Armin. What should you do?”

Someone walked by and gave him a curious raised eyebrow.

Armin smiled in greeting but then realized they couldn't see it with his scarf in the way. But by the time he lowered it and smiled again they had moved on. He put his scarf back up again. “I'm an idiot.” He looked over at the city past the gates. “What's the harm in saying hello? A friendly face is always good to see. Making sure people are staying alive. Staying alive. Saying hello.” He chewed on the other side of his lip and put his hands in his pockets. “I'll just go say hello. That's safe.”

The moment he saw the museum his legs turned to jelly and he had to lean up against a naked tree. _I'm so useless. No matter what you said Eren, I am so useless. So useless._ He took a few calming breaths and then bowed his head and shut his eyes. _It'll be great. It's not like we had sex and are seeing each other again after a strained goodbye or no goodbye at all. Not like the other times . . . And no ran-over foot._

“Are you going to throw up?”

Armin's eyes opened and he froze. His toes scrunched in his boots.

He heard the sound of crinkling paper and then a brown paper bag entered his sights. Carefully he took the bag in his hands. “Uh no. No, I'm not going to throw up.”

“Then why did you take the bag?”

“Because you . . . handed it to me?” He chuckled like a moron.

“Are you going to stay bent over forever?”

Armin licked his lips, lowered the scarf and then straightened up. He met the blue eyes of Annie and despite fearing he'd melt again, instead those eyes solidified his legs and he could stand without fear of jelly again. He held out the bag. “Your bag back. Khaleesi.” _Oh, shit!_

“Excuse me?”

“Just . . . I'm tired. Ignore me,” he insisted.

Annie took it carefully, wadded it in a ball, and then threw it over her shoulder. “It's been awhile. Arlington, right?”

“Arlert.”

“Right. Arlert. You owe me a word.” Her hand tapped the black sheathe on her thigh, presumably where the rose-infused dagger rested.

“Hi,” Armin said softly. “Yeah. It starts with the 'the joys.'”

“The joys?”

“The joys.”

Annie put some hair behind her ear and glanced away before saying, “How many words are left?”

He counted in his head. “Let's say there's seven meetings' worth.”

“Seven? I rarely meet other people twice, let alone seven times.” Her eyebrows raised and she smirked. “All right. I think I can bear to look at you seven more times, if either of us live that long, or happen to find each other again.”

Armin's heart died.

“That was a joke,” she said.

Rebooting system.

Annie turned away. “So why are you over here? Not much in this part of town.”

Still rebooting.

She looked over her shoulder.

“There's a museum.”

Annie gave the old building behind him an unimpressed look. “I don't think they're open right now. Or ever. There might be some fascinating dust, but that's about it. If you find dust fascinating.”

“I came to find you,” he said. “I talked with Berthold and Reiner.”

“Ah, there it is. And how is this shitty world treating you, Armin Arlert?” she asked. “You look like you just got pissed on by an elephant.”

“Hot shower,” he said, self-consciously touching his raggedy wet hair. “But good. I'm good. What about you?”

She shrugged. “Same. A hot shower sounds nice. Lucky you.”

Lightbulb! A ten thousand watt light bulb! “I have six more minutes of hot water left if you want to use it.”

“You didn't use all your water?” Annie asked. “You're stupider than I thought. Yeah, I'll use that six minutes of water. And I'll use every last second. Can't have it going to some ugly-faced military high-up, can we now?”

The lovebirds were gone once they got there. Armin waited outside in locker room while she showered. The steam wafted in and he breathed it in. _Should I ask her to dinner? That's what people do, at least in normal lives. God, I've never been on a date in my life. Not even with Eren. And it's not like we know each other very well_ at all _. Accepting my hot water is different than accepting spending time with me. Even if it is free food . . . At least in there, she doesn't have to see my face._

The water shut off and he listened the sound of her feet on the wet tile. The ruffling of the towel as she dried her hair and body and then wrapped it around her. The footsteps headed towards the locker room, and Armin quickly pulled out his map and pretended to be plotting something when she came in. He didn't even look up until she said something, and even then it was a nonchalant “oh, sorry, I was lost in my work. You say something?” kind of look.

“Thanks for the hot water,” she said.

The look. And then the charade faded away because she was standing in front of him in just a towel and his face got hot. He looked back down at his map. “Yeah. No problem.” Even after all the times he'd seen a naked body, both male and female, it still flustered him.

In his peripheral vision he could see the towel fall to the ground. Her pants jingled when she picked them up off the bench beside Armin. He felt sweat in his hairline when he saw that peach colored blur next to him. So he focused extra hard on the words “Salt Lake City,” saying them over and over in his head.

“Okay, jitterbug, I'm dressed so you can stop pissing your pants,” she said. “Have you never seen a naked woman?”

“Sure, just not . . .” He looked up and met her icy stare. Somewhere the words got lodged in his throat and he had to plow them out with the loudest most awkward throat clear in his entire life. “Just not . . . while not in the middle of throes of passion. They were just, you know, not one-night-stands, but not exactly anything . . . extended of any kind. I guess it does fit the definition of a one-night . . .” He shut his mouth. “That's not important. Yes. Yes I have.”

“Have you ever watched porn?” she said.

He glanced off to the left. “Does HBO count?”

Annie rolled her eyes and picked up her jacket, popping out the sleeves so it wasn't inside out. She stuck one arm in and then the other and zipped the thing all the way up to the base of her throat. Her hands naturally fell into the pockets. “I've watched porn. It's not that great, to be honest. So it's not like you're missing anything. You know, if you actually haven't seen it.” She narrowed her eyes.

“Right.” He folded his map nicely and put it away. “Do you want to go to dinner with me?”

“Sure,” she said.

He blinked.

“You really think I'm going to pass up the opportunity for free food? Shit, I live for that. And stop feeling like I hate you or something. I really don't. If I did I wouldn't have offered you that nasty-ass paper bag I found lying by a Dumpster when I saw your sorry ass by that tree.” She shook her hands in her pockets. “Let's go now. I'm starving.”

She chose a tiny hot cafe by the brothel Jean and Marco got married in. Armin paid for their sandwiches and bad coffee—but piping hot—with some cigars and a slightly overdue Hershey's chocolate bar and they waited while the owners prepared it. Spoiled for choice, they both ordered the same thing: hard wheat bread, mayo, some suspicious looking green leafy vegetable, tomatoes, unspecific cheese, and the best part—non-sarcastically--fresh cooked ham from a pig they'd slaughtered in the back that morning.

“So why do you know Japanese?” Annie asked. “Seems fairly useless. Japan is a thousand miles away.”

“Six thousand miles,” Armin said. “My friend is Japanese. She taught me. What about you? Do you know any languages besides English?”

Annie bent over and rested her arms on the table and her chin on her arms. “I took a little French in middle school. Literally months before this fucking thing happened. Might remember a few phrases, but it's mostly lost on me. Comment allez-vous?” Her eyes wandered to the tabletop, to where Armin's fingers lightly tapped it.

When he noticed he stopped and moved his hands under the table. “Am I bothering you?”

She rested her head on its side. “No. You'd know if you were.” Their sandwiches came and she sat up again. “That home you were talking about before. Who was it?”

Instead of answering, or even thinking about the answer, he watched how she ate her sandwich. How she picked up one half of it, turned it upside down and ate around all the edges first, kind of like how Armin did when he was little to get rid of the crust. But this bread had no crust. And she ate it. It left the middle, edged with semicircles where her teeth had sunk in. She set it back down and started on the other half in the same way.

By the time she had set that one down too, he realized there was a question still lingering in the air but he couldn't remember. _Oh. She asked about home . . . She . . ._ He looked at her expectant eyes. _Did she ask about . . .?_

“If you don't want to answer just say so instead of sitting there like a silent dumbass, okay?” She picked up a sandwich half and contemplated the pock-holes in the surface of the bread like it was some chemistry problem to be solved. _Caused by air bubbles during the baking process,_ Armin thought.

“Sorry,” he said. “I . . . it's just . . . sometimes it's harder to think about than other times. I don't know why. But, you asked about my home right? And not the old St. Louis kind.”

Annie nodded. “You told me a home doesn't have to be a place. It can be a person. But you never said that person of yours was dead, only that they were far away.”

“Well, they could be in town for all I know,” he admitted. “Or they could be halfway across the continent. Either way, it's still far away to me because I wouldn't know. Even with the ever-shrinking world, I don't really think I'll see them again.”

“We met again,” she said and took a bite of her sandwich. And another. She favored one side, slowly chomping away to the heart of the sandwich.

Armin smiled a little. “Yeah. But we both operate out of Sioux Falls. If they come here, it's just a pit stop. I've met a lot of mercs here just stopping by and then I never see them again. Could be coincidence, a near miss, like they're on one end of the street and I'm on the other, or they just never come. Leastwise not while I'm here. Everybody's always moving. Or dying. Everybody's got their sectors. My friends, they trained down in Orlando. So they're probably in the southern sector. The only overlap is down by Missouri and Texas and my squad and I never really go there.”

“Ah, that Jean guy. And his freckled lover. Right.” Annie set her sandwich down with the softness of handling a newborn. “Well, why don't you just request a mission down there?”

He lowered his eyes and concentrated on the sandwich. On how unhungry he surprisingly was. An effect of the conversation, no doubt. Not even with how much happiness sitting across from Annie gave him, it wasn't enough to dull the sharp pain that came with memories of Eren and Mikasa. They'd burned a bridge. Sure, they rebuild a new one, but so far, no one had made the first step to do so. And Armin wasn't sure if he wanted to make the first move. People fell away from each other. That was life. Even in this new one, that fact remained carved in some untouchable stone.

The silence this time answered her question rather than irking her. Annie tapped her fingers on the table to draw back his attention. “Okay. You going to eat?”

“Yeah . . .” Because even without an appetite, his body needed that sandwich. So he would turn into a robot and shove it down his throat and let his body take all the precious nutrients it needed. He glanced at her tapping fingers, forced away a smile, and picked up one half of his sandwich that would make Jared Fogle cry.

“At least try to enjoy yourself,” she muttered.

Together they munched on their sandwiches, leaving the rest of the conversation for later, and easing their greedy stomachs. She finished first, and put her head and arms back on the table. To avoid awkwardness just watching Armin eat, her eyes stared at a knife cut in the table, maybe made by a misplaced cut into a piece of food, or by some drunken merc during a feisty meal. Jean had done something similar in a bar in Minneapolis after someone insulted his hair.

Armin smiled at the memory.

Annie took that as a sign Armin was enjoying his sandwich. He finished the last bite and then gave her a long unblinking stare that she pretended to ignore as she played with the cut in the table. Time passed, maybe a minute, before she finally looked at him and sat up straight. He kept his eyes on her.

“So why'd you call me khaleesi?” she asked. Her hand flattened over and covered the cut. “I'm not the wife of a khal.”

His eyebrows raised. “You know _Game of Thrones_.”

“I read the books,” she said with a shrug. “A few years ago. A house I raided . . . someone had the whole series.”

“Do you still have them?” he asked breathlessly, leaning forward. His hands spread out over the table—pinky finger awfully close to hers. “I only ever saw the show. My friend and I used to watch it in secret. That's . . . so I actually haven't seen porn, but that show might qualify, I suppose, in some capacity . . .” He laughed once. “When my grandpa found out I was grounded for a month. Anyway, that's besides the point. I would love to read them. The books.”

Annie moved her hands into her lap—a twinge of sorrow shot through Armin's chest—and said, “I traded them off when I finished.” A moment and then she muttered, “Sorry.”

“Ah, it was a long shot. Hard to find interesting books nowadays. Found one on Leningrad in Evanston . . . Interesting, but depressing. Not that _Game of Thrones_ is any better, but at least that's fictional.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “So you like to read?”

“I suppose,” she said and pointed a finger to his plate. “Are you going to eat that?”

“Eat . . . eat what?” He looked down at the tiny morsel of mayo-covered leafy thing on his plate. “N--”

She got up to lean over and snatch it off and pop it into her mouth. She licked some mayo off her finger and then got to her feet. “Reiner and Berthold will be waiting for me. Thanks for dinner.” She went to the door.

“Wait, that's it? You're just leaving?” he asked, standing up and following her out into the street.

“I got stuff to do. Don't have a week off like you. No hot breakfasts. No warm beds.” She took out her bun and shook her head lightly. The crinkled damp hair washed around her shoulders and she began combing through with her fingers. “I've already spent too much with you.”

Armin stared down at his feet as they walked.

She stopped. He almost ran into her. 

“We'll see each other again. I have to know what you carved into the knife, right? So don't look so glum, it's depressing me,” she said. She wrung out any remaining water from her hair and pulled it back into a bun again. “When you become a khal, let me know.”

Armin just stood there and watched her walk away. After she'd gone he put his hands in his hair and smiled.

February 27, 2019  
THE MIDDLE

Back then, if you could run a mile in under fifteen minutes at the beginning, they'd accept you. They believed it'd deter the ones that would fail. Or the ones who joined for the wrong reasons. That's what Eren had been practicing for all those months. That one mile-long run through the city. February 27th, all the trainees gathered at the military depot in Orlando, the sun not even up. The officer in charge gave them the crack-down, an ass-kicking speech that Armin preferred to ignore while Eren just drank it up like it was the water of life.

The course looped around back to the depot. In fifteen minutes they all had to be right back here where they stood or they'd have to wait until October. Other officers were spaced along the path, to give updates to runners, and of course, encouragement.

Armin could run a mile in nine minutes, and Mikasa in six and a half. As for Eren, just yesterday morning he'd gotten just under fifteen. It could be close. But he looked tired, practicing way too much just for that number: 14:44:13. In Armin's gut festered a dark feeling. That in fifteen minutes, the three of them would be standing together, two qualified, and one not. But it wasn't his prophecy to self-fulfill. In all honesty, as much as it hurt to know it, everything was up to Eren. This was his dream. And it all rested on him.

The runners got ready. Eren gave Mikasa and Armina a grin and a good luck, and they both returned it. But Armin knew the same thing was running through Mikasa's mind, and that grin, the one that was supposed to make it better, to relieve some of the pressure, just made it worse for them. And worse for Eren once he started going. Yes, he'd gotten that 14:44:13, but only after he dragged himself over that finish line, tears staining his dirty face, panting so hard he could hardly breathe, his hands grasping at the junction of flesh and plastic.

He'd pushed himself too hard. And they'd let him.

_Why did we do that?_

The officer fired a shot and everyone started off—Eren fast at first, until he slowed to keep with Armin and Mikasa. They had to pace themselves. That's something they had told him again and again. And now was definitely the time to follow that advice.

“You guys don't have to stay with me,” Eren said. “I know you can finish faster.”

“We'll stay with you. We'll all cross anyway,” Mikasa said.

“I insist,” he said.

If only to get him to stop talking and conserve his energy, they nodded in agreement. Mikasa headed off at a faster more comfortable pace. Armin did the same, and looked over his shoulder to give Eren a thumbs up and a smile.

They all lost sight of each other forty-five seconds later. Armin jogged along at nearly the same pace as one of the other trainees, a tiny girl with blonde hair and the biggest blue eyes he'd ever seen. She probably didn't even touch five feet. But she plugged along, feet grinding into the asphalt, her eyes focused on the finish line.

He reached the half-way mark a little behind, so he kicked himself a little harder. His thoughts raced, and he wiped some sweat from his forehead as if that could wipe away those thoughts too. But they stayed. And they repeated over and over. _If I'm behind, then how far is Eren?_

The blonde girl sped up too, and eventually she disappeared as well.

One other person passed him, their hands scratching at their throat. He found them again three minutes later, barely moving, gasping for breath. He forwent a sympathetic glance and focused on himself. On how his body moved. All the tendons and muscles, and the signals sent to and from them and his brain. That's how he moved. Those tiny little things no one could see. That's how he pushed himself across that finish line where Mikasa and the tiny blonde girl were waiting.

The officer called out Armin's time: 10:20:11. He'd qualified.

“Almost six minutes exactly,” Mikasa told him when he came over. “My best so far.”

The two of them turned and looked down the long street, searching for Eren, but their eyes only found three other runners, none of them him. They all crossed the finish line, the last one at thirteen minutes. Eren had two more minutes. He still hadn't appeared around that corner.

 _Come on Eren,_ Armin thought. _You have to appear soon or you won't make it._ He found Mikasa's hand and held it.

“How many runners left?” the blonde girl asked.

The officer squinted down the street. “Two.”

One of those two appeared just a few seconds after that. They'd make it probably. Barely.

“I'm going to go find him,” Mikasa said and began running back. With their hands still connected, Armin got pulled along after her.

Halfway down that street is when he appeared, still moving at a steady pace, his head bowed. Armin lifted a hand in the air. “Eren!” The head came up.

“Eren!” Mikasa called as well.

It looked like he tried to move faster. He could make it. With just a few seconds to spare. Armin knew he could. And they would run with him. They would help him to do it. _He's going to make it,_ Armin thought with an excited smile. _He's going to make it!_

Eren's shape collapsed onto the ground.

The smile faded. “Eren!” he called and ran faster.

The two of them skidded to either side of Eren. The brunet groaned and held his leg, his face hidden from them. Armin put a hand on his shoulder but Eren pushed him away. “I can get up. Just give me a second.” Head still down, he placed his feet square on the ground and straightened his torso. “I still got time to make it there. Even if it's just . . . just . . .” He pushed up and got halfway extended before he went back down again—they caught him, arms hooked under his armpits.

“No! Let me go!” Eren said and tried feebly to push them away.

“It's fine Eren. It's fine,” Mikasa said. “October.”

“Dammit . . . I'm so fucking close . . . just . . .” He lifted his head, red eyes brimming with tears, staring down at the finish line almost with hatred. He tried to take a step but cried out and instead kept weight off his prostheses.

The two of them helped him hop down the street. Helped him cross the finish line. Listened to the officer say “16:02:45” as he pushed stop on the timer. “Sorry kid. You didn't qualify. Come back in October.” He glanced at Eren's fake leg. “Or don't. There's some things you won't be able to do. Not with that.”

Eren directed that hatred-filled glare onto the officer but surprisingly said nothing nor made any move towards him.

The officer turned to the other runners. “You all qualified. Write down your names on the clipboard inside my office and come back March 1st. We leave then. You can leave at any time.” The last part he said with a tone, as if a warning “but if you do . . .” would have followed.

Everyone shuffled into his office. The trio stayed put, Eren sitting on a box, rubbing the skin just above the prostheses. “Dammit,” he kept whispering under his breath. “Goddammit.”

Once he could move again without pain, they went back to their shelter, to their room, and Eren sat down on his cot. Armin and Mikasa stood near, not meaning to give him such pitying looks, but it was hard not too. Not looking at Eren hunched over there, fingers scraping at his prostheses like he could destroy it. Secretly, Armin was glad. He got six more months with Eren. And he didn't give a damn how selfish it was to feel that way.

Mikasa squeezed Armin's shoulder and said into his ear, “I'm going to get some ice from outside. His leg will be sore.” She patted his arm, smoothed out the wrinkled on his sleeve, and left.

“I'm useless,” Eren said. “I'll never be able to do anything with this fucking thing. Even if I'd somehow made it across that line in time, you saw me.” He lifted his eyes to Armin. “You saw me; I could barely move. Someone like that can't go to training. Doesn't matter the time. What matters most is how you feel after you cross that damn line. And I felt like shit.” He looked at his leg. “Still feel like shit. Cripples are no good. I'll never be a merc. Always a cripple.” His tone turned dark. “That officer knew it too. The look he gave me. Everyone will always be taking care of me for the rest of my life. You two will always be holding me up because I will always be falling down. Fuck me.”

Armin walked over and knelt down in front of him. He put his hand on the prostheses and started to take it off. Eren just glared at the floor by Armin's knee. Once off, he placed it lightly on the cot beside Eren. The boy's stump was slightly red, probably sensitive. Armin leaned down and kissed it. Eren made the tiniest movement.

One wasn't enough. Armin kissed his skin again. And again. Eren had to know that this wasn't awful. It didn't make him useless. It was still Eren, and to Armin, Eren was perfect. Not having a leg was perfectly okay and Eren would discover that. He'd realize one day that he could do anything he damn well pleased. And one day he'd wake up and the thought that one of his legs was half-synthetic wouldn't even cross his mind—no, it would, but like anything else simple: have to get dressed, have to brush my teeth, have to eat breakfast, have to comb my hair, have to put on my leg, have to say good morning to Armin and Mikasa. 

Armin planted an extended kiss in the very middle of Eren's leg and then pressed his nose into the warm skin. “Everything takes time. And one day you'll be doing everything anyone else can do, and more. Because you don't give up. Not as long as I've known you have you ever given up. This time will just take longer, but I know you'll get there. Because you're Eren. Plus, I won't let you.” He looked up and smiled at Eren's surprisingly unreadable face.

He stayed on his knees, but moved up so he could be closer to eye-level with Eren. “I won't let you because I love you. And I'm in love with you. So. Please don't give up. Don't ever even think about giving up again.”

Eren wasted no time in leaning forward and kissing Armin. And then he pulled back a second later like he'd been zapped. His eyes went round.

If zombies broke in right now, Armin wouldn't even care. He would die so happily.

Eren kissed him again, longer this time. And anyone else would have thought it sucked, because they'd never kissed anyone before, and sometimes their teeth clacked uncomfortably against each other, but for them, for them it was bliss.

Mikasa came in during it. They only noticed her after she knelt down beside Armin quietly. The two broke apart, faces grew red, but she just smiled at them—a perfect sight, Mikasa smiling—and held up the bag of ice she'd collected.

“I promise,” Eren said. “Sorry. You're right. Sorry.” He moved down gently onto the ground beside them, swung an around each of them, and pulled them in for a hug. “I'm sorry.”

 

July 7, 2026  
THREE PLUS THREE

Of course he hadn't _forgotten_ her, but she had always just been a little distant happiness drifting in the back of his mind for seven months. Now in the middle of summer, sunbathing on the ground by the Jeep while Marco and Jean were at the market, someone lightly poked his stomach with a foot. He let out a whoosh of air, uncovered his eyes, readjusted to the brightness of the near-noon day, and looked up into the sun itself. Except it was a metaphor and that sun was Annie, her hair down, long, and wavy, the tiniest of smiles on her face. She had extended an arm to him, which he took, and she pulled him up to his feet.

“Working on your tan?” she asked. “I know a tried-and-proven method better than sitting out here baking yourself alive.” She rubbed her shoes against the warm dirt.

“Yeah?” he asked, serious.

Annie bent over, scooped some dust into her hand and then smeared it over one side of Armin's face.

“What are you doing?” Armin asked with start and then he laughed. “Did it work?”

She considered him. “What I said about tried-and-proven method was a lie.”

He wiped it off with a sleeve. “It's been seven months.”

“Wow. Seven months?” she said without much inflection. “I thought you'd have it down to the day.”

“Maybe a few years back. But I'm not so stuck up on time anymore,” he said. He looked around. “Are . . . Berthold and Reiner still . . .?”

“Oh yeah. Takes too much to kill Reiner. And Berthold's under his protection.” She turned away and nodded to the garage. “Truck's dead. They're in the market to see if they can find any parts. We'll probably be stuck in this godforsaken town for a few days.” She turned back and eyed him. “And what about you?”

Armin shrugs. “We just got in maybe an hour ago. You still have that knife?”

She pulled it out. “The joys of love,” she said. 

“You figured the next part out?” he asked with a blink.

“I got myself a Japanese teacher. A professor here in Sioux Falls. I wanted to figure it out by myself. Waiting was killing me. All that. Charges a beer every ten minutes, but what the hell, right? It's worth it for a language I'm never going to use.” She flipped the knife in the air, caught it by the blade, and then stuck it back in its sheathe. “So fucking illogical and yet I don't even care.”

It came out before he fully even thought it: “I can be your tutor. No charge.”

She snorted. “No charge. What kind of dumbass doesn't charge for services?” For a moment, she looked away and Armin followed the lines of her nose. When she looked back, he jumped in surprise. “I accept. It actually works well for something me and my boys have been thinking about lately. We have a proposition for you and those morons that follow you around.”

“A proposition?” He frowned.

“So the two of us better stick together so we don't have to wait another seven months and the time is passed, right?” She put her hair behind her ears.

Armin walked to the Jeep, pulled out his backpack and rifled through it until he found his prize: an extra hair tie. He held it between two fingers and then showed it to Annie.

“For what?” she asked.

“For free,” he said.

Annie rolled her eyes and took it, pulling her hair into a messy half-bun. “You need to stop doing things for charity. It's a miracle you've survived this long.”

He blushed.

“Don't read into this, all right?” She held up a hand. “But you're kind of cute.”

He just smiled. “Thanks. You as well.”

“Whatever,” she said and unslung her gun, setting it in the back of Jeep.

They sat together in relative silence for the next however-long—it might have been a few hours, but Armin paid most of his attention to an ant that was crawling on Annie's sleeve. Either she didn't notice or didn't care. When he finally pointed it out and picked it off, setting it gently on the ground, the two of them watched it go and she had a kind of sad look in her eyes he wanted to understand, but resisted asking her about it because he got the feeling she'd answer with silence.

Jean and Marco drifted back first, and when they saw Annie, Jean shook his head and Marco gave a pleasant smile. Almost ten minutes later, Reiner and Berthold appeared, and the two squads formed a circle at the back of the jeep. Jean stood with his arms folded, eyes calculating, trying to read into every movement Annie made, while she completely ignored him while she spoke.

“The boys and I want to combine our squads. It's getting harder and harder to find any sane mercs around here anymore, and things are getting worse. Berthold has a theory that maybe the zombies are getting smarter. He even wrote a paper on it, but whatever, you can read it later,” she said with a shrug.

“Smarter?” Armin half-whispered and furrowed his brow.

“Scary thought, I know. Maybe that's why the death count has increased so much in the last few months,” Annie continued. “And with smarter undead, I want a few more guns on my side. I know we don't know each other as well as people used to before the world took a giant shit on us all, and I'm actually not too thrilled about working with that in mind, but it's survival of the fittest, and you all seem fit. And numbers do generally help. So we're asking, yes or no?” She finally looked at Jean because being the head of the squad, his word meant the most.

Jean narrowed his eyes and then glanced at Armin and Marco. “I can't just say yes. But I can't just say no. What about a temporary merging, say, to test the waters, see how we all like it?”

“Done,” Annie said. She picked her gun out of the back of the Jeep and slung it over her arm. “Reiner, did you get any car parts?”

“Yeah, but they cost a shit-ton,” Reiner said.

“Whatever you traded, I trust your judgment,” Annie said. She looked back at Jean—with a tiny glance at Armin. “As the leader of your squad, and the leader of mine, we'll have to go in to command together to update our merc status. And I don't give a shit what the name is. If you want your last name, go right ahead.”

Jean smiled the tiniest bit. “Shall we go now?”

The two headed off. Marco shifted closer to Armin and said in a quiet voice, “I didn't expect him to accept so readily?”

“He didn't accept anything,” Armin said. “Jean's not stupid.”

“What about you? What do you think? Numbers would help, she's right about that,” Marco said. “And from what I've gathered, Reiner and Berthold seem to be decent fellows. We get along famously. As do you and Annie. Are you and her . . .?”

Armin shook his head. “No. But I think Jean's right. We should give it a try first. And if things don't work out, then we just go back to how we've always been.” He put a hand on Marco's shoulder. “You never know until you try.” _So should I_ try _to make something with Annie? Am I ready to try anything remotely serious? What if it goes badly and causes rifts in the squads—squad? At least it wouldn't be as bad as . . ._ A headache started in his right temple, pulsing and throbbing and making his jaw ache too somehow. He sat down and let out a short breath. He looked up at Marco who was giving him an encouraging look. “You think I should ask her? I don't think she has any intentions at all.”

“I don't think there's ever harm in asking,” Marco said and folded his arms behind his back.

“What if it just turns out like every other liaison I've had?” Armin asked.

“Ooh, liaison. That's a cold word,” Marco said.

“That's all I've had, besides . . . you know . . . Eren,” Armin said. And it felt strange to say it out loud. He uttered it so infrequently, it fit his mouth like a foreign word. “But there's something about her that I just _really_ like. Maybe it's her apparent indifference, which is kind of sad, I guess, that I'd be drawn to that.”

Marco sat next to him. “You know what I think? The world sucks so people shell up. But everyone has different ways of doing it.”

Armin hung his head. “Yeah. I'm not a kid anymore. God, how old am I now? Almost 24. I'd have graduated college by this point.” He gave a sarcastic laugh. “Apocalypses make up for their lack of organized education. You learn every day. About literally everything. Not just computer science, or linguistics, or business.”

“Love, too?” Marco supplicated.

Armin straightened up. “If it happens it happens. I'll let time decide. Given my past and her attitude, I think that's the smart thing to do.”

Marco slung and arm around Armin's shoulders and smiled. “Sounds good. You two will sure be spending a lot of time together. And that really helps. I know from experience. What you two have been doing, if it counts as doing anything, is . . . well, let's just say that even though a good amount of time has passed since you first met, the amount of time within that period you've actually spent face-to-face is somewhat lacking.”

“Somewhat,” Armin repeated. “Yes, only somewhat.”

Marco's smile widened. “Don't rush. I support whatever decision you make, of course, but I think you're making the right one.”

“Thanks.”

The sirens sounded.

Immediately, the two of them grabbed their weapons, and Berthold and Reiner, who had been standing off a few yards lost in their own conversation, jogged over. “The zombies sure have hella timing. When this is over, we meet back at the Jeep, right?” Reiner asked.

They saluted and separated, each to their designated sections. The command had put stipulations for mercs, that if ever the city you worked out of was attacked while you were there, you had specific tasks to accomplish, no matter where the attack was coming from. Luckily, they found their station was not on the side with the current horde, but of course, command could always order them to the front lines. As for Leonhart squad, Armin had no idea where they'd be stationed. _Wherever you are, I hope you'll stay safe._

They hunkered down in their pill boxes, staring out over the open land south of Sioux Falls. Jean joined them seven minutes later with an update—Leonhart Squad was in the east. Both of their squads were away from the horde in the west. Armin relaxed a little.

“It's not a huge horde,” Jean said. “The town should be fine. But they'll probably order us over there. Didn't seem to me like there were many mercs around town today. Zombies have impeccable timing. Or maybe they could somehow sense it. Berthold did say they were getting smarter, right?”

Armin frowned but refrained from saying anything. Not because he was worried about how the others would react to his words, but because he honestly, for once, had zero idea what to say. No thoughts went through his mind, though he tried. Instead he slid down onto the cement floor and stared at the greyness between his battered shoes in relative vacancy. He could hear the distant sounds of gunfire from the other side of town, but rather than focusing on it and trying to figure out what was happening like he usually did, he just stared and stared, like forcing himself into an uncomfortable unnatural meditative state where he could reach a negative—rather than positive—void.

Jean was restless. He tapped his feet. Shuffled his weight. Until finally he blurted out, “I can't just sit here. They can't possibly get angry at me for leaving here and helping with the fighting, right?”

“If they needed us, they'd get us,” Marco said.

Jean cursed under his breath. “There's nothing over here.”

“They'll probably call in the squads in the east if anything,” Marco said.

Armin stiffened.

“So we might lose our future squad mates literally less than an hour after we joined forces, is that it? What the fuck kind of squad mates are we if we just sit here, then? It may not be completely official with command because of the current shitstorm, but it's basically there, right? We have to go help them,” Jean said and stood up.

Armin tried to focus harder on a crack in the cement.

Marco tugged on Jean's pant leg. “We don't even know if they're over there. We should just follow orders and stay put.”

With a kick into the wall, Jean sat back down. “I don't like sitting and doing nothing.”

“We do it all the time,” Marco whispered.

“That's different.”

Armin narrowed his eyes and he imagined an ant crawling out of the cement, much like the one on Annie's sleeve. _Wonder where that ant is. Maybe someone's stepped on it. Or maybe it's peacefully resting underground. Probably used to lots of noises. Wish we could hide underground._

“Armin,” Jean said. “You want to go help, right?”

He said nothing, still focusing on the ant that wasn't there.

“What's wrong with you?” Jean asked. “Armin?” The hostility left his voice and he became at-once concerned with Armin's well-being, as if the attack suddenly wasn't happening anymore. He had a singular gift for compassion with Marco and Armin. Because no matter how important the town was, or Leonhart Squad, Marco and Armin meant the world to him. There was no world without them.

Armin blinked and the ant disappeared. He slowly looked up. The other two were staring at him with uneasy expressions. “What?” he asked.

“You don't look so good,” Marco said.

“Oh,” Armin said.

The sound of a plethora of footsteps halted their conversation. Their heads whipped to the door that busted open a moment later. A sweaty lieutenant and his NCOs stood in the doorway, while a column of soldiers ran behind the, heading north-west. “We're transferring you to the front. Get to Sector B-7 immediately.”

Jean was up and out before Armin had even remembered how to move his legs. Marco grabbed his arm and heaved him up, so Armin had to remember on the go. When he got outside the pillbox he snapped back into the real world, pushed Marco away, and broke into a light run after Jean. The three of them meandered their way through the streets, so used to all the side streets they had spent years traveling through. It cut five minutes off their journey. And two minutes later when they arrived at Sector B-7, the breach alarm went off.

Their steps faltered for just a moment, as they took in the screeching sound. Zombies had broken the perimeter defense. A smaller horde than the last one they had called in, but maybe Berthold was right. The zombies were smarter. They didn't need as many numbers now to get what they wanted.

Jean led the squad to the B-7 commander who ordered them up onto an old two-story apartment building. Marco situated himself on the roof, pulling some old boxes to make a sniper's bed so he could get comfortable when picking the zombies off one-by-one. Jean took a second story window, and Armin played look-out for Marco, kneeling in front of the half-wall surrounding the roof, binoculars to his eyes as he scanned the area ahead. Something burst into flames 300 yards to the west—the west, where he could see the broken perimeter wall. Ugly black plumes soared into the air like curled, zombie fingers. A minute later the entire area was encased in a fine veil of ashy fog.

“Hard to see anything more than 100 meters out,” Armin said.

“Keep a close eye on all the alleyways leading to this sector,” Marco said, his eye to the scope.

“If they get past us, they'll be too close to the main shelter,” Armin murmured.

“That's why we're here,” Marco said. He glanced over at Armin. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Armin said, his eyes still on the area before them. The smoke was getting thicker. He dropped the binoculars. “I have to go down there on foot. I'll be useless in a minute.”

Marco nodded. “Do what you have to do.”

Armin set the binoculars next to Marco, gently pressed a fist into the sniper's shoulder, and then made his way down the stairwell and to the ground floor. He chose a window directly beneath Jean's and unslung his gun, aiming it directly into the tiny plaza ahead. Other soldiers, actual military men, waited behind barricades for the oncoming horde. With every passing second, a noise that had started out like the buzz of a fly, grew, a new zombie growl recognizable with every passing moment, until finally Armin saw the first body. And someone took it down—probably Marco.

The rest came ten seconds later and the entire plaza opened fire. Armin fired—missed—and readjusted his sights. This time when he fired, he got a zombie right through the eye. Someone else plodded it with two bullets through the neck, and it fell to the ground. But there were too many undead and the first row of soldiers fell back, pulling out their hand-to-hand weapons when necessary.

The floorboards above squeaked, and then a moment later, Jean came into the room. “They're flanking the building. We gotta get out.”

“Get Marco,” Armin said.

Jean left.

Armin got two more zombies, and then put his gun away, grabbing an ax from the table beside him, and heading to the door of the apartment complex. The others joined him a minute later, and they headed out into the smoky streets, retreating to sector B-8 where the soldiers had set up some stronger barricades. Just behind them, the roof of the main shelter was visible.

The squad stopped to catch their breath—Armin overheard a conversation between an officer on the radio with presumably command. “Sir, there are still civilians and soldiers in those sectors. And supplies. We can't bomb it now.” An invisible knife stabbed through Armin's heart and twisted with each succeeding word, sharpened by the officer's desperation. “We can still hold on for a few more minutes to get them out, sir. We got some good people. We don't have to lose so much. Sir--” He stopped abruptly. “I know, but sir, with all due--” A long pause. “I understand, sir.”

The officer came into view as he turned to one of his men. “Do it.”

“But, sir, we still have three squads in there, and two merc squads. Not to mention the civilians, and the supplies we received from Omaha a few days ago,” the man said.

“That's an order,” the officer said.

The man saluted. “Aye, sir.”

Armin clutched his ax tighter to his body and kept his eyes open, staring at the dusty, ashy ground. Ten seconds went by and then the bombs went off in a Domino Effect, starting from sector B-7 and rippling westward. The soldiers who hadn't known, they cried out, some screamed—so many had to have known the humans still left in those sectors. One man tried to run back, but his friend snatched his arm and held him back.

“Jesus Christ,” Jean said, his eyes wide. “We could have . . . held them off.”

Marco just shook his head over and over again.

Armin closed his eyes. “We couldn't risk the shelter. They didn't have enough time to evacuate. There are too many civilians, too many children, in there. A soldier signs up knowing they'll probably die.”

“Then let them die trying to stop this. Instead of just blowing them to Hell,” Jean said. “Fuck. There were civilians still there too. They don't mean anything?”

“I'm not the one who made the call; don't yell at me,” Armin said in a surprisingly calm voice.

“Right. It's okay because of that 'needs of the many' bullshit.” Jean put his head down and started trembling—Armin could see out of the corner of his eye. Slowly he turned and it looked like Jean was _crying_.

“Less bullshitty than trying to make a heroic stand at the risk of the hundreds of civilians in the shelter,” Armin said. “Lesser of two evils. That's what everything's come down to. I don't know why you're surprised. You weren't born yesterday.”

Jean lifted his red-eyed face and glared at Armin. “What's wrong with you?”

Armin looked at the ground again.

“Let him be, Jean,” Marco said into Jean's shoulder and kissed it.

The sirens went off again. The all-clear. At least it was efficient.

“Why such late warning?” a soldier said nearby.

“Was everybody on break? You know how many people we lost?”

“What's the point of having scouts if they can't even do their job correctly?”

“The people we lost today, their lives are on _them_ , not the zombies.”

 _That's a dangerous attitude,_ Armin thought. There could have been any number of reasons why things turned out the way they did. And Armin didn't really want to _blame_ anyone. Blame never changed past events. And nor did it particularly change future events. Everyone had to learn to do better. There was usually always something to improve on. Blame centered everything on one person, almost made it as if no one else had to think about what they could possibly do to make things better in the future. That viewpoint was harmful and selfish, to Armin. He never wanted to take place in blame if he could help it—he wasn't perfect, and sometimes that human trait of innate selfishness and unreasonableness made itself front and center in himself.

“Can't believe I was crying,” Jean was mumbling when Armin came back to reality.

“No shame in crying,” Armin said and got to his feet, using the ax to push himself up. “But maybe I'm saying that because I used to cry way too much.”

“It's different when you're younger,” Jean said.

Armin offered them a hand. “Shouldn't be.”

By the time they got back to their untouched Jeep, the body count was in: 47 dead, approximately 35 of that 47 from the bombings. They all leaned against the back, waiting for something to happen, maybe for Annie and the others to show up, or some high up to tell them their request had gone through because things were already going back to normal. Things went back to normal a little fast in this era. But at least it was efficient. Grieving was important, and a moment of silence and thought for the dead as well, but lingering never did anyone any good.

Just like Armin still lingered on Eren. Maybe spending so much time with Annie would help Armin really move on. If she was still alive.

Twenty minutes later and Leonhart Squad still hadn't shown up. They'd promised to meet back at the Jeep afterward. Either the military was holding them up, or death. At least the former wasn't forever, and Armin focused on how it was only some regulation stuff keeping them away so long.

And yet an hour went by—the smoke was completely gone by then—and they still hadn't showed. Jean and Marco had accidentally fallen asleep in the Jeep, and Armin watched over them—he glanced back every five minutes—whilst keeping his eyes sharp and on a 360 of the area to spot any blondes or one lumbering brunet.

A messenger boy came by with an official notice that they were now one squad on paper: Kirschtein Squad, with Jean and Annie as co-captains, as tended to happen when two or more squads merged together. Armin asked if the boy knew where the other half of his new squad was, but he said, “I don't know, pal, I only send messages.”

“Could you . . . send a message to a squad in another region?” Armin asked.

“Whoa, that's totally beyond me. You gotta go to command for that,” the guy said and ran off before Armin could ask him anything else.

He returned to watching the area—at one point he thought he saw the lady who called herself Ymir, but he couldn't remember her features all too well (though she _was_ walking with a short blonde who could have been _her girl_ ).

_I shouldn't care so much. But I do. Because I want something. I want what I had with Eren. No, I'll never have that. I'll have something similar in essence, but different because it's a different person. A different connection. Does that even make sense? Maybe I want it now because things are getting so bad. Smarter zombies. More deaths. More senseless deaths out of fear._

Armin metaphorically pricked his ears when he saw a flash of a blonde bun, but it belonged to a mousy lieutenant staring at a clipboard. He returned to his mind.

_What was everyone else? A distraction? I don't want any more distractions. I need to stop hiding myself. I need to be able to open myself to another person again. Why Annie? I've met a lot of beautiful people. Intriguing people. So why am I stuck on her? Because she appeared right when I started feeling this way?_

Someone called out, and he swore it was his name, but it turned out they were simply shouting for someone named, “Amon!”

_Or is there something else that I haven't consciously figured out? What is it about her that makes me think about her all the time? That makes my heart pound when I'm next to her? When I think she could possibly be in danger—when I think about how she's in danger, even though everybody is. Why do I call her khaleesi?_

His nose scrunched up. Moisture clung to his skin. When he looked to the west, he could see some small rain clouds hovering in the atmosphere.

“Armin!”

 _And why does her saying my name make me so_ happy?

The three of them were walking over, completely fine, not a scratch on them. They came to a stop by the Jeep—Annie cast a glance at the sleeping couple and almost failed in hiding a small smile—and looked over each other to really make sure everyone was okay. Armin gave them the message, that they were all now Kirschtein Squad—Annie's eye twitched a little—and that they'd be given missions together henceforth. He even offered some of his own personal beer as some kind of help for all the stuff they had to trade in to fix their truck.

“Did they put you on the front?” Annie asked when Berthold and Reiner went to actually fix the truck now. She popped open her beer, took a sip, closed her eyes and savored it, and then looked at him again, a signal he could answer.

“Yeah, but only for maybe fifteen minutes,” Armin said.

“So you were right next to the bombs, weren't you? We were on the other side,” Annie said.

“I'm surprised they didn't recruit you before us,” Armin said.

Annie shrugged and took another long swig. “We were one of two squads at the east shelter, not a pill box or standard defense or anything. I'm sure those other squads got recruited, though. Wonder how many of them died because their side of the town was too quiet. Sucks ass, doesn't it?”

“Yeah.” If he wanted to ask, he could have, during that conversation, but instead he just let her drink her beer in silence, occasionally glancing over to look at her face when she closed her eyes and fully relished the taste and the effect. She looked the most peaceful he'd ever seen her before, when she drank that beer. The little things. And when the corner of her mouth lifted up when she took the last of it into her mouth, swishing it around before swallowing like she was brushing her teeth with it, his heart started to pound a little faster.

 _I'll figure it out,_ he thought. _I'll figure myself out. And she'll be here. And if ever she wants to, if ever she tells me I'm cute and doesn't add “don't read into this” to it, I'll be there and hopefully ready. For now, I'm content to just spend time with her. The start of a new phase in my life, isn't it?_

“Hey,” she said and he blinked from his thoughts. She had the tiniest of glows in her eyes—or maybe he was imagining it, like the ant, but there really was a good chance it was _real_ \--and she said, “Eyes on the landscape.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The merc training takes a turn, Armin remembers when he first met Mikasa, the newly combined squads travel to Montana for an important mission, meet the Mormons, and Armin and Eren's relationships takes another step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally going to be longer, but I cut a section out that will now be in the next chapter (Three Plus Three).  
> Thanks to lilyisatig3r and breezy for betaing!  
> I'm a nerd and I visited Great Falls and followed their path (to the best of my ability) and I find it to be accurate lol. Also, Great Falls is a GORGEOUS city.

July 18-19, 2022

NEW TRIO

The first month had been hell. They hadn't given much thought to their bodies, and Levi gave zero shits about that. He trained them like soldiers, no matter how young or old, and he expected them to try their damnedest. But they liked him—all the ones who stayed after the first week. He cared about progress, he cared about their well-being, and he was good at gauging morale and _doing_ something about it—and none of that “everybody gets spaghetti! But now you have to run three miles up and three miles down this hill!” If he gave you metaphorical spaghetti, he let you have and enjoy that spaghetti without any bullshit afterwards. But he expected you to take it and like it and then keep on working, no getting soft, because they weren't there “to get pampered like the actual military officers”--Levi had a thing where he hated the actual military, though no one knew why.

They gave a shit about their bodies after the first two weeks. And though it wasn't any easier, physically, by the time August rolled around, it was mentally, because they knew of what to expect, even on the days Levi woke them up at four a.m. to run through the mud around the entire camp four times in the pouring rain. Of course, everything they did, he did—another reason they liked him so much.

Ilse wrote down everything that happened in a journal. Sometimes she let Armin read it, because she said one day when this was all over she wanted it to be published. And she asked him to keep it and continue writing in it if ever she died. He agreed.

When she died, he wasn't there, and the notebook was lost to him.

They formed a little band, Armin, Ilse, Marco, and Jean. And they all decided they would form their own squad when training was over—Ilse and Jean bickered over the name, whether it was Squad Langnar or Squad Kirschtein, but eventually she yielded when Jean got a higher leadership score than her on a daily basis—not by much, but enough for her to believe that maybe he would in fact be a better leader, and the fact it would give her more time to write down everything that happened in her notebook.

A month before training ended, Levi let them all have the day off, a full twenty-four hours, and they gathered in the dining hall to celebrate with mashed potatoes with butter and non-alcoholic malt beverages. Ilse leaned into Armin, a foam mustache across her upper lip as she laughed at some heinous joke Jean made about the commander's hair—someone mentioned he had no room to talk, and Jean got all pink around the ears.

Afterward, when everyone went to turn in, Ilse pulled Armin aside on the dark side of the barracks, and blushing, hands behind her back, she said, “I like you a lot, Armin.” And then she kissed him, which he wasn't opposed to, but he felt absolutely _nothing_ and she noticed and before he could apologize or anything, she hid her face and went to her bed. He took his time, so that she'd be asleep by the time he got back.

In a whisper, Jean asked, “So what were you two doing?”

Armin rolled over. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“Are you two going out now?” Marco asked.

Armin rolled back over, faced with Jean again.

“First time kissing a girl?” Jean asked. “How was it? I've never kissed a girl.”

Armin rolled onto his back. “No. We're just friends.”

“That bad, huh?” Jean said.

“Jean!” Marco chastised too loudly and someone's head lifted up.

Armin closed his eyes. “Maybe if it had been bad it'd be better.”

“Ouch,” Jean said.

“Go to sleep,” Armin said.

The next morning, Ilse pretended like nothing had happened. Armin was fine with that. She still touched him a lot, but it was just friendly. He did like her company. But he was still stuck on Eren. He didn't want another bad ending. There were already enough of those as it was.

“I hope you enjoyed your day off,” Levi said as they gathered for roll call in the morning. “Today we're doing double the work to make up for it. Beginning with a three mile run that starts now.”

At least it wasn't raining.

Someone tried to start a song. It failed. And then Levi started it back up again and for some reason everybody was in the mood to sing, and they all knew it. It was fun, singing. Months ago Armin wouldn't have been able to hold a conversation, let alone _sing_ while running, especially for this long. A testament to Levi's training. Plus, the guy had a nice voice. It was more encouraging, hearing him. Because he had the strength and the will to, they could find it as well. Since he always seemed so glum all the time, but that was hardly a surprise given the global circumstances.

And no one could ask him about it. Maybe his colleagues could, but none of his subordinates. Ilse seemed interested the most in getting to know him, but if you even tried, he'd snap at them and send them to do something grueling, like extra calisthenics, or they'd be on bathroom duty for the next two weeks.

“Isolation isn't good,” Ilse said. “You know how long single mercs last? Not long at all. It's a wonder he's survived this long. He must be really good. But everyone can fall. Even Levi. If he wants to live longer, he should find more friends.”

“I'm sure he has friends,” Armin said.

“He's a grown man—age wise—let him make his own choices,” Jean said.

Ilse threw him a dissatisfied look. “But look at us four, together. We're stronger together. Before I met you . . .”

She went off in a long story, and Armin thought back to Mikasa and Eren. How he definitely wouldn't be where he was without those two. How without Jean he would still be rotting in that shelter, a useless member of society. But now all four of them were _here_ , and they were reasonably _happy_.

“And I know things will be really different when we're out there on our own, but we'll have each other,” Ilse said. “I wrote a note for each of you in my notebook, so that if ever I . . . you know . . . you can read it. I want you to know how I feel about all of you.” Her eyes rested on Armin the longest, but only by a fraction. “It's embarrassing to read it _now_.”

“So what you're saying is that if you are in fact immortal, we won't actually know what you think about all of us?” Jean asked.

Ilse smiled. “Yeah.”

Levi stopped by the dining hall and called everyone's attention to him. “Today you start live training on some captured undead. There's a good chance you could die. Keep in mind all your training and you will do fine. If things get out of hand, I'll personally intervene.” But sometimes shit happens, his tone basically added. “Continue on.”

“Cheery,” Marco said.

Jean gripped his spoon tighter. “Well, shit, I didn't know they did live training.”

“You want your first encounter with a zombie to be after training in an uncontrolled environment?” Ilse asked.

“Well, no, but I mean . . .” He dipped his spoon into his weak soup and shuffled the vegetables around. They never figured out what he meant.

Armin crinkled his forehead. “We're almost a month away from finishing. They're probably going to throw a lot of zombies at us. So we have to be vigilant. Remember everything we’ve learned especially well.”

“Of course, Armin,” Jean said. “We're not stupid.”

“I know. I just want you all to keep that in mind,” Armin said.

“Because he cares,” Ilse defended.

“We will,” Marco said with a smile.

“Decapitating a real head,” Jean said, shaking a bit. His eyes got wide, a creepy smile on his face. “It's going to be harder than cutting the head off a dummy. They got bones and muscles and shit.” He laughed a little. “Why the hell did I sign up for this?”

“It'll be easier after the first day,” Ilse said.

“Will it, though?” he asked.

 _Mentally, no. Physically, yes,_ Armin thought.

They ate the rest of their meals without further words.

The trainees walked together in silence to the makeshift battle arena—that's what Jean called it, and it stuck. It was day one of the live training, and the one that lost them most of their friends. But at this point they were still innocent, truly believing in Levi to swoop in and save them if need be, they gathered around the battle arena with twitchy nervousness now that the moment had finally arrived. They could think about it all they wanted, dread it. But now that they stood before an arena, the moans and snorts of dormant zombies in a shed nearby, it all felt like a game. And they all had come from a time when at one point, games were always fun, and never had terrible consequences.

That day could have very well been the day they realized the true nature of life. Whether it was the screams of their friends, or the seemingly dead look in Levi's eyes as he watched them, or the fact that there was nothing they could do to help themselves. They had tried possibly everything.

Armin saw that with the first trainee. A volunteer. Enthusiastic, ready to kick ass. The name escaped Armin, but he knew the face. The guy was one of the best in their training group. And as he walked into the middle of that arena with his weapon of choice—a machete—everyone on the sidelines whooped and cheered him on. At first, Levi let him have one zombie. That was easy. The crowd cheered again, Jean among the loudest. And then Levi let out two. The trainee got them, but as he stared at their dead bodies, Armin noticed his body trembling. Part three, the final part, had three zombies rushing towards him. The cheers after he killed one of them, transformed into screams when the others took him down. His eyes silently begged them for help, but when they offered no assistance, he turned to Levi. The instructor just watched him go down.

Only when the trainee was dead did Levi intervene, roping the zombies back into the shed. He turned towards the others. “Overconfidence will get you killed. This is not a game or competition. You should never be excited to fight the undead. And you should always fear them. Fear is what will keep you alive above all else.” His eyes glinted. “Who's next?”

No one wanted to follow that. Not even Jean, who was staring at the ground with wide eyes, his body shaking, but whether in fear or in rage—or both—Armin did not know. What he did know was that he wanted to be nowhere near the zombies in that shed. But he _was_ going to have to face them. In school, he'd learned doing things as soon as you can helped ease the stress. Instead of waiting for his doom, going over every single gruesome scenario his mind could conceive, he would just go out there and see what actually happened.

It wasn't bravery. It wasn't stupidity. Armin raised his hand to go next because he wanted to endure what he had to and get it over with. Procrastinating may have worked when the world didn't bother with horrible consequences, when the worst punishment you'd get was rushing something at the last second, days or weeks of stress piled onto your back, but now procrastinating could mean either death or insanity. And Armin wanted to avoid both. He would not let himself succumb to the kind of insanity and loss of all hope that made him the very thing that had caused the emotions in the first place.

Jean turned his huge eyes on Armin as the blonde walked forward. Instead of choosing a weapon from the rack, he crouched down beside the trainee's body. He put a gentle hand on the young man's head. It was true, he could have made a great zombie hunter, if only Levi had chosen to teach the lesson in another way. The trainee paid the price for the furthering of knowledge in all his comrades. It wasn't fair, and a part of Armin hated Levi for it, but the other part, the bigger, smarter part, knew none of them would get by with a shadow of the truth. They needed to consume it in its entirety and gain strength from it.

With one more deep breath, Armin grabbed the used machete from the ground and stood up. “I'm ready.”

Levi stared at him, chin lifted somewhat, eyes unreadable, but far more excited than before.

The pattern held. First Levi let out one zombie.

Armin held the machete in his hand and held it just in front of him. At first the zombie just stared at him, rocking from side to side, like it was trying to figure out whether Armin really was not a zombie. In that time, Armin went over the maneuvering sets in this head, the ones Levi had ingrained to all their heads in both the classroom and the field. As soon as the zombie moved, Armin scrolled through all the sets again, and then chose one.

The zombie outstretched its arms, snarling, claws ready to sink into Armin's flesh. But Armin was on top of it. He moved just out of the way, and grabbed one of the zombie's wrists. Before the zombie could bring it closer to its mouth to chomp away, Armin used all his strength to twist its arm, and then pull it down into the ground. His foot came on its back and smashed it flat into the dirt. Then came the machete, slicing through half the neck. The zombie snarled again, and tried to grab at his ankle, but Armin's heel connected with its chin, and then the machete came down again, this time stronger, and the steel sliced through. Blood sprayed up over Armin's body—he turned his face just in time.

From the sidelines, Jean cheered the loudest, a fist in the air.

Armin backed away from the zombie and ogled at it, panting. He glanced at his blood-covered hands, and took a huge gulp of air in. _This is how it feels . . . to kill? To be strong?_

More snarls met his ears and he turned to face the other two Levi had let out sooner than he had with the first trainee. Armin almost had no time to decide on his moves set. He used the zombies against each other, pushing one into the other, and taking advantage of the moment to slice off their jaws. At least they wouldn't be able to bite him as easily. They came at him with more vigor, driven mad with instinct to rip to shreds the one who had taken their mouths from them. Armin slashed the machete at their hands and fell down to the ground with a groan. He kept the machete in the air, slashing like a wild man, as he sought to get back on his feet.

The cheering had died down as everyone watched, holding their breath.

Armin stared up at the zombies approaching and put his feet up. One of them grabbed at them, and he kicked out, twisting until the zombie lost his balance. With just the one coming after him now, he raised the machete, said a little prayer, and threw. The blade lodged itself in the zombie's eye, and as it squealed out, Armin scurried to his feet and backed away again. He tried to go for another blade from the rack, but Levi gave him a look that said no.

With a cry, Armin ran towards the zombie with the machete, grabbed the handle, pulled it out with a slurp, and then sliced its head clean off in just one blow. Cheers erupted. But the other zombie was still coherent, and it grabbed a hold of Armin's arm. Again Armin cried out, but this time in panic. Without full control of his arm, he could not attack with the machete. He tried to kick out at the zombie's legs to unbalance it again, but failed. Gritting his teeth, he gave one surge of energy into his elbow and jammed it into the zombie's nose until it let go. Then he sliced its head off and backed away to the opposite side of the battle arena.

Before he could even catch his breath, the last three zombies appeared. Armin shook his head, machete in both hands, in front of him like a two-handed sword. He went through the move sets again, three that melded together seamlessly, one for each zombie. Then before they had a chance to make the first move, he shouted a war cry and ran towards them. He took the right one first, slashing at its belly, and then ducking down when it tried to wrap its arms around him. He sideways smashed his body into it, and it went flying over him into the ground. The middle one he attacked from behind, slicing into its neck. The blade got stuck halfway.

“Shit!” he exclaimed when the untouched zombie came for him. He abandoned the machete in the flesh for a moment to dodge, sliding in the dirt like an overexcited baseball player. Just managing to keep his balance, he kicked off, keeping with his momentum, and barreled head first into the zombie. Both of them went crashing into the one already on the ground, Armin crying out in pain when he hit his wrist wrong. His right wrist. Panting, he clutched it close to his chest, and scrambled to his feet again. He gave the zombies a few distracting kicks and then rounded behind the zombie trying to get the knife out of its neck. With a foot on its back, and a sharp tug, it dislodged, and in the same motion, he cut off both its hands.

The machete felt wrong in his left hand, but he clutched it tight nonetheless, and pressed forward. He moved to finish the deed of cutting the zombie's head off, but the machete got stuck again. Sputtering nonsense under his breath, he tried to pull it out again.

“Armin!” Jean cried out.

Armin looked behind him just as a whir of metal sped by his face and more blood splattered onto his body. Someone pushed him away into the ground, and when he looked up, he watched as Levi finished off all three zombies. The bodies fell to the ground, and Levi glanced back at Armin. For a moment, they just locked eyes, Armin breathing unevenly, and Levi completely calm. Then the instructor offered a hand, and pulled Armin to his feet in one powerful pull.

“Next!” he called out.

Armin stumbled back to the others, setting the machete on the rack, and taking his spot back by his friends again. Ilse took his arm and pressed her cheek against his shoulder, while Marco patted his back, and Jean swallowed noisily and gave Armin a nod. Armin noticed, but never mentioned, the dark spot on Jean's pants around his crotch. With long slow blinks, as he focused on calming his breathing, Armin rested his head on Ilse's.

 

February 28, 2011

BEFORE

The first time he'd met Mikasa, he'd been too small to remember. His parents had invited her family over for dinner when they moved into the neighborhood. The second time he'd met her he considered his first memory of her. It was after the accident, the one that killed her parents. She'd been in the back seat. Apparently, her dad was laughing about something and he didn't notice the light was red, and they got T-Boned—Mikasa's mom died on impact—and then a semi hit them as well, and that's when Mikasa's dad got ejected from the car—and killed on impact with the road—and Mikasa got stuck in the back seat. A fire started in the engine. It was just at that moment that Eren was walking by with his mom. He dropped his ice cream cone and against Carla's wishes, he ran to the car—at least all traffic had stopped—and he climbed through the half-crushed window, and pulled an unconscious Mikasa out just before the whole car caught on fire. She woke up at that point, and she saw Eren's face very clearly, felt the scarf he wrapped around her bleeding head.

It was two months after that, when Mikasa moved in with Eren's family—none of her relatives would take her in— Armin met her. He came over to watch a movie, and she was sitting on the living room floor, the scarf around her neck, drawing a not-half-bad picture of an elf in a forest, drawing her bow. She turned and stared at him, and he smiled with a little blush, because Mikasa was gorgeous--and got more beautiful with every passing year--and she smiled too.

“Hi,” he said.

“This is Mikasa, my new sister,” Eren said.

“Hello,” Mikasa said. “You're Armin? Eren talks about you all the time.”

“Yes, I do,” Eren said.

Armin smiled. “That's a really good picture.” He sat down on the floor next to her.

She hid her face behind her scarf, probably to hide a blush, and said through the fabric, “Thank you.”

“She's really good. She's probably going to be a really famous artist when she grows up,” Eren said, sitting with them. That was the first time they had all been together. That's when the trio started. And they could feel it, in that moment, that they had started something special. Especially when they started the movie— _Star Trek: First Contact_. It was Mikasa's first time with _Star Trek_ of any kind and she loved it so much they put in _Star Trek: Insurrection_ , and just as they were about to put in “Space Seed” as a precursor to _The Wrath of Khan_ , Carla came in and told them it was late.

They all hunkered down on the floor of Eren's room in sleeping bags, with a star field on the ceiling that flowed an orangy-red. Mikasa asked them all sorts of questions about the _Star Trek_ universe. That's when they decided to watch all of it, from the very first of _The Original Series_ with _The Cage_.

“It might take the rest of our lives,” Eren said. “Armin's really slow when he watches series.”

“I'm not _that_ slow. And it's funner if I'm watching it with someone who's never seen it before,” Armin said.

“That's okay,” Mikasa said. “I just wanna watch it.”

“Do you always wear that scarf?” Armin asked, turning on his side to look at her.

Her hand subconsciously touched the edge of the fabric. “Yeah.”

“I'm sorry about your parents,” he said, and then immediately wanted to take it back, because for some reason it sounded insensitive.

“So am I,” she said.

To try and make her feel better, he mumbled out a, “You're really pretty.”

“Thank you,” she said.

He smiled and closed his eyes, breathing in her smell. It was the Mikasa smell, and from that day on, it always made him feel safe and warm inside. It would always be one of the most important things in the world.

 

October 30, 2026

THREE PLUS THREE

 

 _I miss that smell_ , Armin thought.

He woke up dreaming about her, about Mikasa. And his mind had recreated the smell, as if it were real. For just a moment, he really believed that when he opened his eyes, she would be leaning down, a hand outstretched to help him up, as she asked if he had a nice sleep. His eyes stayed closed a few seconds longer as he savored that image, and prepared himself for what he'd actually see: an absence. Two of them.

The first thing he saw was the sky overhead, a moldy grey, the distant roar of thunder. Perhaps a tornado would touch down. Everything had the right shade for it, and the right feel. The moisture of the oncoming storm touched his body, and he licked his lips to taste it. Slowly, he sat up and rubbed the back of his neck and stretched the aches from his body from sleeping on such a bumpy, hard surface. Wasn't the first time, but his body never seemed to get the hang of it. Perhaps it was so hopeful that one day it'd get a mattress again, it was holding out for that.

It was almost completely silent. Only the sound of the thunder, and some tinkering touched Armin's ears. When he looked over, he saw Berthold and Jean cleaning their guns together, while Reiner and Marco slept next to their respective beaus. Armin yawned and then looked around for his own gun. He'd cleaned it yesterday, so he slipped it around his body and hopped out of the pickup.

The others glanced at him. “Good morning, sunshine,” Jean said.

Armin gave the area a sweep. “Where's Annie?”

Berthold looked to the east, to a group of rocks jutting out of the otherwise flat landscape, and nodded his head. “Keeping watch. I think she wants to be alone,” he added when Armin took a step in that direction.

Armin stopped and breathed out. “Right. What time is it?” Nobody had a watch, and he knew that, but he asked it anyway. He climbed into the cab of the pickup and turned on the battery just to check the instruments. It read three in the afternoon. He'd slept for about an hour. Longer than usual. It felt good to get so much rest.

They were on their third mission together in the few months they'd been one squad. This one was going to take longer, as the military called them deep into Montana, north of Helena in a city called Great Falls next to the Missouri River. Their primary objective was to seek out some people who'd recently left the safe zone in Salt Lake City thinking they could make it on their own as mercs without any training, and who'd promptly failed. Usually the military would give zero shits about a few untrained mercs, so there must have been something special about these ones—of course, they didn't actually say what their importance was, but that didn't matter. A job was a job. Orders were orders. And Helena and Salt Lake City would not release anyone to go retrieve them, or those sent out would never be able to return to their haven. So, it was Kirschtein Squad.

At the moment, they were pausing for a rest near Bismarck. They could see it just in the distance, but they preferred to rest in the middle of nowhere and away from the hordes of hungry undead—together, Jean and Reiner had come up with their own name for the zombies they were trying to get to stick with the others: brain-biters. Annie told them that was stupid, so they only said it to each other now. Without meaning to, Armin had begun referring to them as brain-biters, and Annie just rolled her eyes. Something akin to pride shone out of Jean's eyes whenever he heard Armin utter those words.

“How's the Japanese coming along?” Berthold asked.

Armin planted himself on a rock near the truck, his rifle between his legs. He made a hand signal to Jean, who promptly reached for a canteen and tossed it over to him. After he gulped down some cold, delicious water, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, “Annie's a quick learner. She's got both the writing systems down. I taught her a few kanji. The really basic ones.”

Berthold smiled. “She's always been a fast learner. Picks up on things real fast.”

“Yeah. I've noticed,” Armin said with a gentle voice. He screwed the cap back on the canteen and tossed it back to Jean, who caught it without looking and nestled it behind him.

“So what's the knife say, anyway?” Berthold asked. “I won't tell, I promise.” His eyes went wide, and he looked so completely serious about this promise that Armin had to laugh.

“It's a quote from _Star Trek_. One of my favorites, actually: 'Requiem for Methusela.'” He bounced the gun from leg to leg.

“I've never seen any _Star Trek_ ,” Berthold said. “My mom said it was of the devil. But she said that about a lot of things. Reiner had to introduce me to most things. Even then. So little time with all that's happened.” He cocked his gun and pulled the trigger. It clicked. In satisfaction, he stuck a clip in, flipped the safety off and then back on, and put it away. “So what's the quote?”

Armin smiled. “Ah, it's a secret. I want Annie to find out first.”

Berthold shrugged. “I understand. What about you, Jean? You know it?”

The horse-face just snorted in reply.

“Hey,” someone said, and they all looked over where Annie was walking up. She set her gun in the back of the truck, drank some water, and then looked at all three of them. “We should be moving. I don't like the look of that storm.”

They all monitored the green-tinged sky and the angry storm clouds. The thunder was growing louder.

“Are we stopping in Bismarck at all?” Jean asked, mostly to Annie.

Annie stared at him without the slightest hint of an emotion. “You need to stop by Walmart to pick up some laundry detergent?”

Jean gave her a sour frown.

“I think just a stop in,” Armin said, and then all eyes were on him. “My grandfather used to have a friend who lived there. We visited one time. The guy owned a jerky store. Kept a lot of it at his house too. We may find some.” He glanced at the ground. “He was also a big survivalist so he very likely could have taken all of it with him, or his house and store may have been cleaned out by other mercs, but it's worth a shot.”

Thunder crackled as they deliberated to themselves in silence.

“Sure,” Annie said with a shrug. She looked at Jean.

Jean grinned. “And then some laundry detergent for shits and giggles, yeah?” He lifted his gun into the air and rested it on his shoulder. “Be the freshest smelling man in the whole Midwest.”

The sleepy boys woke up when the engines started, and got into positions. Armin reserved the Jeep for Jean and Marco, and took the passenger side of the truck, while Annie drove. When he shut the door, she looked over at him, gave him a smile without any particular emotion attached, and said, “That story true? About the jerky? Or were you just trying to make Jean feel better?”

“I don't usually say needless things just to make Jean feel better about himself. And I wouldn't take risks for that same reason, either,” Armin said after a moment. He leaned his head back into the rest. “It's true. The store will be dead, I'm sure, but his house is at least worth a shot. I only went there once, but it's the best jerky I've had in my life.”

Annie put the truck into gear and took the lead.

Halfway to Bismarck, she spoke again. “Can I ask you something that could sound a bit conceited?”

“You can ask me anything,” he said.

She smirked at that. “Why do you like me?”

Armin thought about it for a few minutes, and she waited patiently. It was true that considering all the other men and women he met, Annie might not have seemed like the one he'd take such a deep liking to. Most of it could be placed on the timing. Only recently did his feelings for Eren, and the pain of their parting, finally fade to a duller ache, settling somewhere in his subconscious. A place he could deal with, though not necessarily the place he put unimportant things in his mind. It was out of the way enough to still acknowledge it existed, but where it no longer allowed it to control his emotional attachment to other human beings. 

Annie was beautiful. And strong. She took no shit from anybody. In fact, most of the time, she seemed to not give any shits whatsoever. The way she carried herself, her utmost confidence in who she was, intrigued him.

 _Is that . . . demeaning to Eren, then? Or are they just different? Do I just like them for different reasons?_ He felt like a bad person for even trying to compare the two. How could one compare two completely different humans? All humans were born different. It was essential to being human in the first place. The comparison of humans was a selfish, perhaps judgmental task, and though Armin tried his hardest to push his growing list of pros and cons for both out of his mind, it still managed to stay there.

Looking at Annie now, her profile as she watched the unmarked road ahead, he felt differently about her than how he had about Eren at the same stage in their relationship, in the awakening of his feelings, but it still meant the same thing at the core. _Maybe_ he thought, _that's what I'm trying to get at._ He spent so much time trying to be the best he could be, to not be that dark corner of people's lives who sought out the negative aspects of the world around them and the things inside, that sometimes he got far too sensitive to his own thoughts and feelings.

 _There's nothing wrong. I'm making a big deal out of this for no reason._ He made an irritated sound.

Annie glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

He held up his hands. “No, sorry, that wasn't for you. That was . . .” With a sigh, he ran a hand over his hair to make sure it was all in place. It eventually settled down into his lap, and he stared at his fingers, at the countless scars and calluses forming on them. Once upon a time he had had the skin of a baby's bottom, but time had weathered them, sculpted them into these ungodly things. His entire being, actually. Some of the scars and calluses you couldn't just see at a glance. But Annie saw them. And she hadn't needed long to look. She saw so many things, just like Armin did.

“That's a complicated question,” he decided to say.

She just shrugged. “I guessed. But I had to ask.”

“I suppose it does nothing to just tell you that I like you a lot. Maybe . . . no.” His eyes closed for a moment, and then reopened to look out at the landscape. “I like you a lot. For a lot of reasons.”

Annie managed a smile. “You're one of the few.”

Without thinking, he said, “I can believe that.”

But that made her laugh, a kind of cynical laugh, but enjoyable to hear and see on her face all the same. And it made him chuckle a little—nervously.

Armin leaned against the window. “I wonder sometimes if we choose to make or see things as more complicated than they are, or if in reality, they really just are complicated as hell.”

“I don't think about that. I think about what needs to be done and I do it,” Annie said.

“That's a smart attitude. But it does leave something to be desired,” Armin whispered.

Annie looked over, longer than a mere glance. “Oh?”

“It's narrow,” Armin said, closing his eyes again. “If you confine yourself to a path, you only see what's on it, or just around it. Paths are for navigation, for safe travel. Animals use them for those same reasons. But they stray from the path, just as humans do. Because there's so much to explore. So much off the path. The path only brings us to the places we want to go, where there are no rules.”

The blonde snorted. “You have a romanticized view of the world, don't you?”

“Of course I do,” he said firmly. “I see the world as it is, as it should be. Not how people try to make it be for their own dark purposes. I've always been a strong believer in the ultimate victory of good in the end. Maybe it was _Star Trek_ , but also, I think it's because I distance myself and take everything in rather than . . . narrowing myself.” He looked at her for a long time.

She lifted the corner of her mouth. “I'm glad to know there's people like you in the world. Making up for all the mistakes of people like me. I can't see very far off the path into the world you see, Armin.”

Armin's eyes fell. “Maybe not now. But later.”

“How optimistic,” she said.

“No,” he said. “I'm a realist.”

Annie made a quiet humorous noise, but said nothing more.

They drove in silence, and once they entered Bismarck city limits, Armin began his alternate life as a GPS. Annie followed his directions—Jean behind them—until they arrived at an old rambler surrounded by its own tiny forest. With no zombies around, and Reiner, Marco and Berthold on watch with the vehicles, Armin, Jean, and Annie traveled into the house and to the cellar door. Miraculously untouched, they opened the door and descended the stairs.

“He kept a stash of jerky here in case anything happened,” Armin said as he pulled on the light bulb string, but it stayed dark.

Jean turned on a flashlight. “Almost as if he knew.”

“Survival nut,” Armin reminded. He took the light from Jean and headed over to a bookcase, with most of the books missing and thrown onto the cold cement floor. Outside the thunder gave a particular violent rumble, making Jean jump. The storm was almost upon them.

Together, they moved the bookcase and a tapestry to reveal a door. Jean kicked it open, and the three of them peered inside. Most of the shelves in the stockroom were empty, but some bags of homemade jerky still remained—about enough for six months for the whole squad. Thunder rumbled again, just as someone outside appeared to speak. They all turned.

Annie handed the jerky in her arms to Jean. “I'm going to see if that was Reiner.” She pulled out her rose knife, and disappeared back upstairs.

“Keep going,” Armin said, handing some more jerky to Jean.

“Why am I holding most of it?” Jean complained.

“Because I have the flashlight,” Armin said. He put it in his mouth, and grabbed the rest of the jerky. They'd move slow. Hopefully everything up-top was secure.

They heard another noise, someone yelling.

Jean looked at Armin. “We better get up there.”

The wind had picked up since they'd gone in. The two of them ran to the pickup and dumped the jerky. Annie, Marco, Reiner, and Berthold were standing on the vehicles, gazing north. Both Armin and Jean joined them, with Jean asking, “What is it?”

Thunder grumbled, and just as it dissipated, that's when Armin noticed. About ten miles to the north, a funnel was forming from the sky. It wasn't impossible for a tornado to appear in this area, but especially for the time of year, it was unlikely. Just their like. And it looked like it would form into a full-blown tornado. Annie turned to them, made some hand gestures, and every member of the squad returned to their traveling positions, Armin seated first. Annie came in through the window and immediately started the engine.

In the distance, they noticed some zombies heading their way.

“Let's hope the bastards get sucked up into that monster!” Reiner shouted, his hands in the air.

Annie backed out, quickly changed gears, and floored it. Jean in the Jeep followed right on their tail.

“It's going to head southeast,” Armin said. “We'll be safe going west.”

As they sped out of Bismarck, they watched the tornado completely form, a cloud of destruction around its base. Being no tornado expert, Armin couldn't gauge the type, but it had to be on the high end of the scale.

“At least we got the jerky when we did,” Armin said, relaxing in his seat again. “And Reiner's right, that'll cause at least some zombie deaths. Like the planet's fighting back.”

“Isn't that what nature does?” Annie remarked.

Armin nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

 

August 30, 2022

NEW TRIO

It was just after they graduated. The new trio was stocking for their first mission. Marco was so giddy he wouldn't shut up. It was so bad even Jean was annoyed, his face screwing up every time he turned away from Marco, and then smiling again when Marco could see him. Armin listened at first, to be courteous, but then it became background noise, and anytime Marco seemed to be asking a question, he—and Jean too—would grunt in reply and apparently that was enough for Marco because he would just keep going again. They all needed affirmation from each other. The real world was different than training. They had the skills, but now it was time for actual application.

Other mercs, new and experienced alike, were stocking up at the base. Every time Armin saw one of his fellow trainees, he waved and gave them a smile. Most returned it, though more uneasily. At least Ilsa seemed enthusiastic. The mercs who had been doing this for some time now, they all ignored Armin's attempts at even the smallest of communicative acknowledgment. Normally it would have stung a bit, but now it just glanced off Armin. He'd probably be that way soon. _I hope I never reach that point. Where I can never smile._

He sighed and picked up a box of ammo for the guns the military had provided this one and only time. His torso leaned back so the box rested on his abdomen. Gritting his teeth, he carried it through the pouring rain, feet sloshing around in the mud. At least he had new combat-grade boots. His other shoes would have gotten stuck and lost in the sludge.

“Hey!! No! Freeze!” someone shouted at Armin.

With a gasp he froze midstep. But then he began to wobble. His foot came down behind him and then he looked around for the source of the cry. A girl his age with brown hair in a high ponytail was running towards him, her eyes not on him, but on the ground in front of him. He looked down just as she slid to a stop in the mud—soaking her pants in the process—and pried something black from the mud. Using her sleeve, she wiped it clean the best she could, muttering under her breath sadly.

“A book?” Armin said with a blink.

The rain washed away the remainder of the mud until Armin could read the title in gold lettering: _The Book of Mormon_. He blinked.

The girl stuffed it under her shirt and then put a hand over it fondly, as if it was the child she carried. Then she got to her feet and gave Armin a smile. “I thought I'd lost it. Thanks for not stepping on it. At least part of it will be salvageable. I just got my hands on this after years without my old one.”

Armin shifted the box so it rested on a different part of his hand. “Anytime.”

“I'm Sasha Blouse,” the girl said, pointing to her chest with a thumb. “From Salt Lake City.”

“Salt Lake City? Why did you leave?” Armin's eyes widened.

Before Sasha could answer, someone else called out her name. She looked over her shoulder at a short guy running towards them and waving his arm in the air. He stopped at her side and naturally her arm slung over his shoulders.

“Did you find it?” the guy asked.

Sasha nodded and then looked back at Armin. “This is Connie.”

“Springer,” he said with a salute.

Armin said, “I'm Armin Arlert.”

Connie looked at the patch on Armin's sleeve and stroked his chin. “So you just graduated?”

Armin nodded. “My squad and I are about to head out on our first mission. There's a supply dump that's been overrun—”

“I swear that's all we ever get!” Sasha groaned and hunched over to press her forehead into Connie's shoulder. “We've been doing this for a year and still haven't done anything remotely offensive.” She shot back up again. “I became a mercenary to kill zombies, not liberate supplies.”

“Supplies are important,” Armin said and moved the box again. His arms were starting to die. He had to get to the Jeep soon. There it was, two hundred yards away, a faint blur in the thick rain. Marco and Jean had stopped and looked to be talking. Armin needed to get over there. This box was the last and then they could move out.

Slowly, he started inching away. But the two were in the way, and he would have to go around them. Then it would be obvious he was trying to get away and he didn't want to offend. But surely they'd understand, having been mercs for awhile . . . He moved a little more. Their bodies turned to keep facing him. And then they moved with him.

Armin sighed and just let it be.

“We're resting for the next few days,” Connie explained, as if Armin were interested in hearing about this. “Been on the road without a break for three weeks straight. I don't even think I've properly showered.” He lifted an arm, smelled his armpit, and shrugged.

“There's showers over by the barracks,” Armin said.

“And I'm heading there right away,” Connie said.

“We're waiting to receive our next mission. They said it would take a few minutes,” Sasha clarified. “I lost my book on a mad dash to the breakfast line. Fortunately I got there in time to get the last of it. Mercs eat a lot.” She patted her stomach lovingly.

Armin shook some water out of his eyes, but a lock of hair clung right next to the inside corner of his right eye. He couldn't move it without putting the box down, and there was only mud.

Luckily Sasha caught sight and she took the ammo box from him easily, like it weighed as much as her _Book of Mormon_. And she continued talking as if she hadn't suddenly taken on fifty pounds of ammunition. “Where are you from?”

Armin moved the hair out of his face and then rubbed the soreness from his hands. At least they were moving faster towards the Jeep. “Uh, St. Louis.”

Just like that the movement stopped. Both Sasha and Connie looked on him with huge eyes. Then Sasha looked away—her hands tightened their grip on the box. Connie remained staring at Armin, a ghost of something in his eyes. A memory? No. Armin would know if Connie had been in St. Louis in the beginning. Maybe he had family there when it happened. Maybe he'd been away in Salt Lake City with Sasha.

Which reminded him of his previous question, one he really was interested in knowing. “Why did you leave Salt Lake City?” They let people out if they wanted. But very few had opted to do so. If Armin had been in one of the safe zones, he would have stayed. If he had been, if he and Mikasa and Eren had been in one of those cities when it happened, where would they all be now?

Sasha's voice broke Armin out of his thoughts. The lightheartedness was absent, and she spoke firmly and deliberately, a hardness in her eyes Armin had rarely seen in someone who still retained some form of happiness and hope. “I grew up knowing God wanted us to help others. Ever since I was young I’ve wanted to help people and to go on a mission. Of course, this whole apocalypse turned it on its head. So now instead of going door to door in a foreign land, Connie and I are killing the zombies. I know they're people, or at least they were at one point. But I also know that once they die, God will take care of them. They'll have peace in death. And so will those still living who benefit from the absence of the disease.”

Armin stared. “But doesn't this whole situation not add up with your religion? Like, what your texts say is supposed to happen? I'm surprised you still have your faith. Most people I know have lost it.”

“That's why I'm so glad I found my book,” Sasha said with a sigh. “They're hard to find nowadays. Most people threw them away or burned them. But even so.” She lifted her chin. “I haven't lost faith. I can see why you think we should. Believe me, we've had enough people try to convince us our religion is useless and wrong, even before the outbreak. But I won't lose hope. Or my faith. This is all just part of God's plan.

“Oh . . . well, I'm glad for you,” Armin said. _Doesn't sound like a great plan. Killing off millions of people . . . infecting more millions. Ah, whatever. Doesn't matter why it's happening. Only that it is. At least they're actively helping. They seem like really nice people. Mormons generally are._

They started walking again. They had got close enough that Jean and Marco noticed. One of them waved their hand in the air and called out Armin's name. Armin waved back.

“Thanks,” Sasha said with a smile.

The three of them neared the Jeep and Sasha handed the ammo off to Jean. Marco smiled at the strangers. “Hi. Are you mercs?”

Connie nodded enthusiastically.

“I'm Marco. And this is Jean.” Marco pointed to Jean who gave the weakest of waves and tied down the tarp covering their equipment.

They exchanged names and shook hands. Just as Sasha tried to start in with the small talk, Jean jumped down from the Jeep, splashing mud up around the top of his boots. He gave the two Mormon mercs an unimpressed look and then turned to his squad mates. “Ready to go. Let's get out of here. I don't know if I can take much more of this rain.”

“Maybe we'll meet again, Armin,” Sasha said.

“We drop by here a lot,” Connie added.

Armin smiled. “I hope we do meet again. I'll try to keep my eye out for any good copies of that book for you.”

Sasha's smiled back. “That'd be great!”

The two of them bid the new mercs farewell and headed off into the rain.

“What book?” Jean asked.

“ _Book of Mormon_ ,” Armin said, getting into the Jeep.

Jean blinked and glanced in the direction of Sasha and Connie's retreating bodies. “Oh, were they Mormon?”

Armin shrugged. “I assume so.”

He frowned a little, as if just realizing how he'd treated them and regretting how he treated them. “I've never met a Mormon before. I don't even know what their whole religion is about really except for a few things. It'd be interesting to learn about it . . .”

“Now you've met two.” Marco slapped Jean on the back. “If we see them again, maybe you can talk?”

“I guess,” Jean agreed with a shrug and got in the driver's seat. “If we survive long enough.”

“Trust me,” Armin said. “You mention one word of wanting to talk with them about their religion, they will happily oblige you for hours. And if they had one, they'd most likely give you a copy of the _Book of Mormon_.”

“Yeah?” Jean gave an impressed look to nothing in particular. “Wonder if it's as indecipherable as the Bible.”

Marco laughed. “The Bible's not indecipherable.”

“Please, Marco. Revelations.”

Jesus considered that and then shrugged in begrudging agreement. “You have me there. That is an interesting book. I don't think I know half of what's in there. Too many metaphors. At least, I hope they're metaphors.” He gave Jean a terrified look that Jean just laughed at.

Once they'd loaded up the Jeep, they hopped in, Jean in the driver's seat. He just stared at the wheel, running his hands along it. “Damn, guys. We finally made it.” He glanced at Armin. “You sure Ilse's not in for the ride?”

Armin shook his head. “She really wanted to go on that mission to St. Louis before officially joining our squad. She's enthusiastic. And another chance probably won't come around again. I'm actually interested to read all about it in her journal.”

“I'm excited for you to read it and then tell me what's in it,” Jean said. “I'll miss her.”

“Me, too,” Armin said. “But she can take care of herself.”

“So we're off!” Marco said. “On our first mission as brand-new mercs!” His face lit up and he stared up at the roof of the Jeep with daydreaming eyes. “All the things we'll see. All the people we'll save.”

“All the goddamn zombies we'll behead,” Jean said.

Marco blinked. “Ah, well that too.”

Armin smiled at the two of them as they went on. Only one thing could make that day, that moment, more perfect than it was. He sunk down in the back of the Jeep and looked out the window at the murky bubble he could actually see. All the mercs milled about. Maybe somewhere Eren and Mikasa were doing the exact same thing. And maybe they'd meet up. One day Squad Kirschtein would gain new members and never be the same again.

 

November 2, 2026

THREE PLUS THREE

 

It took them a day to get to Great Falls. They parked near the east city edge on Highway 89. Annie laid out a map given by the military of Great Falls on the hood of the truck so they could plan out their retrieval of the “mercs.” They also laid out floor plans of the building they would be heading into.

“According to last known reports, they were located at the municipal court on Central Avenue. Some big white Romanesque building,” Annie said. “We head there first.”

Jean nodded.

“There's gonna be a helluva lot of brain-biters between us and that place,” Reiner said.

Annie made the tiniest eye twitch.

Armin gazed at the map. “Staying on this road takes us past a lot of businesses. There's bound to be hundreds of zombies. Even though it’s so direct, if there's a lot blocking the road, it will be impossible to get through. I suggest we travel on these side roads. There's a likelihood of less zombies, even if it's not as quick.” He traced the path with his finger, and they all nodded in agreement.

“Armin's usually sound on these things,” Jean said with a glance at Annie.

She gave the tiniest nod. “All right. If that path doesn't work, however, we take the highway. Clear?” She rolled up the map and they began.

The route took them south down 51st Street, and then 15th Avenue. They crossed unmarked territory and entered a suburban subdivision. They followed a road through it directly west, crossed some farmland, made a south U-shape around the university, and stopped off at a park. There, they reconfirmed the route, checking for any zombie hordes headed their way—there weren't—and continued.

They passed by some sort of health center before turning up 4th Street back to Highway 89. There was no avoiding busy streets now. They had to cross the highway and go downtown near the river to reach the civil building. They stepped on the gas, in case of zombies. Of course, there were only so many they could mow down before it became impossible to keep driving and they were swarmed.

No wonder so many mercs turned down this mission in spite of the rewards.

This section of Highway 89 was less crowded, but farther on, looking through binoculars, Armin could see hundreds of undead. They traveled to 2nd Street and followed it past dozens of zombies for miles until they made a sharp left onto Central Avenue, right onto the sidewalk in front of the civil building. They smashed through some potted plants, and immediately exited the vehicles and made a run for the doors as the nearby zombies snarled and changed direction towards them. They made it in, and pushed whatever furniture they could in front of the doors.

“We have just a few minutes,” Annie said. “Split up. Find the mercs. And be careful. There's bound to be some government assholes lurking around. Armin and Berthold with me.”

Jean raised his eyebrows, but merely said, “Marco and Reiner with me.”

Annie and Armin made their way to the left, weapons held aloft. They checked every room they came across, beginning with asking if the mercs were there. When they met around back with the others, they moved to the stairwells and the second floor.

“Sure is creepy,” Berthold said. “Never did like buildings after dark.”

“It's not after dark,” Annie told him in a more foreboding voice than necessary, and the brunet swallowed.

Somewhere, a scrape echoed through the building.

“Stop,” Armin said, lifting a fist. “Quiet.”

They obeyed and listened.

The scrape came again.

Immediately, Annie put her gun away, and unsheathed her knife. “That's a zombie.” She motioned for them to follow with two fingers, and they did. The sound came again and again, like a zombie was just stirring from a long nap and trying to figure out what the fuck it was doing. They stopped in front of a door with a nameplate “Jennifer Goodwin.” Annie counted down to three and then busted the door down.

Not one, but four zombies turned their attention to the humans, suddenly wide awake. Annie dug her knife into each, and left two for Armin and Berthold, taking the other two for herself. Armin elbowed his in the face, slamming it into the wall. Then in two quick moves, he slammed the butt of his rifle into its head and neck. It groaned and slid down to the ground. When he turned to the others, they were just finishing their friends off.

Annie licked some blood off her lip and flipped her head to get the bangs out of her face. Just as her eyes made contact with Armin's, bullets rang out somewhere else in the building. The three of them sprang to it, no longer worried about being quiet, and headed towards the source of the gunfire.

It stopped when they reached the midpoint of the courthouse, and Annie held up a hand. They waited, breathing hard, for the bullets to ring out again. They did, but not until a voice very similar to Reiner's let out a cry of pain. Again, they dashed off, in triangle formation with Annie in the front, towards their comrades.

They found them in a courtroom, hiding behind seats, guns out, watching as Reiner cut off his own hand with another cry. Annie and Armin froze in the doorway, but Berthold continued to Reiner, ripping off his sleeve and immediately wrapping it around Reiner's stump of a left-hand. Reiner was cursing under his breath, but otherwise, seemed to be taking his recent loss well.

“Bar the doors!” Jean said when he noticed them.

Annie and Armin closed them, and then someone tossed them a crowbar to put between the door handles. Only then did they notice the other two people standing in the room, complete strangers, raggedy, bloody, terrified. They could have hardly been eighteen years of age, and with their similar body types and facial structures, Armin took them to be siblings. One of them, the girl, who had thrown them the crowbar, took a step forward, a hand reaching out to nothing and grabbing that nothing. Then she pressed it against her ribs.

“Names,” Annie said, holding her knife in an offensive position.

The boy put his hands up. “We're the mercs. The ones you came to save.”

“It's true, I confirmed their names before these zombies broke out of the closet,” Jean said. He put his gun away—it sizzled.

“We didn't know they were in there,” the boy insisted.

“Whatever,” Jean said, eyes unforgiving.

Annie lowered her knife. “You're no mercs.”

Jean glanced at Marco to make sure he was okay and then turned back. “You two chose a hell of a place to settle into. There's probably droves of brain-biters outside now.”

The girl scrunched her face when he said “brain-biters.”

“We'll get out. It's just a matter of strategy,” Armin said.

Berthold and Reiner came over, Reiner clutching the bloody rag around his arm. “Fuckers didn't get me. I'm sure I cut it off in time.”

Annie gave him the smallest acknowledgment. “We'll see in less than an hour.”

“So what the hell is so special about you two anyway?” Jean asked, walking towards them. They shrunk back, so he stopped and tilted his head to the side in curiosity. “You have top secret info? Is that it?”

The siblings glanced at each other, and the boy said, “We have information on how this whole thing started.”

Annie narrowed her eyes and Jean laughed. “I'll bet you do.” He turned to Armin and thrust out a hand in gesture to the kids. “A couple of goddamned teenagers have information on how the goddamn zombie apocalypse started. What a fucking dream come true, right?” He swung his head to them again and kept on laughing.

After a moment, they tentatively smiled and joined in.

That made Jean stop laughing and he walked up to the girl, grabbing her by the collar and pulling her forward. “So why did you fucking leave Salt Lake City instead of telling them then, huh?”

Her eyes grew to the size of cherries and she clawed at his wrists in vain. “That's—That's not--”

“Let her go!” the boy cried.

Jean let her go and took a step back. “Answer the fucking question.”

“Jean--” Marco said weakly, but Annie held up a hand to silence him.

Armin hated when Jean got like this, but he had every right to be pissed. It made no sense. None of it did. And he wished he could be as brazen about his anger as the squad leader.

The boy just swallowed.

“Answer me,” Jean said. “I want to know why we risked our lives and my pal's fucking hand for you two. A bunch of kids who ran from a safe zone to fucking _Great Falls_. I mean, you two literally make no sense.” He turned to the others. “We're wasting our time. Let's leave the fuckers to themselves. They had to know the zombies were in the closet. They must have locked them in there. And they must have known loud noises would bring them exploding out.” He whipped back around and shouted, “Every goddamn last zombie in this fucking building knows we're here now.”

Annie actually looked at him in disgust, a rare emotion. “Shut the fuck up.”

Jean looked at her in faint surprise, but calmed down.

“Look,” Marco said quietly. “It doesn't matter. We're on a mission. We have to bring them back.”

“Fuck the rewards,” Reiner said with a groan. “It ain't worth this.”

“You can't tell us, can't you?” Armin asked the siblings.

They both looked at him and relaxed a little at his non-confrontational speech and tone. The girl answered, and in a stronger voice than he'd expected. “No. This information is not for all ears.”

“We may be the last humans you see,” Annie said. “If your information is so important, then you would tell us in case you die.”

“Your mission is to keep us safe and alive,” the boy said.

Annie sighed. “It's hard to keep idiots alive. They stray too far from the path.”

Armin glanced at her and said, “They're not going to talk.”

“And it's not like we can torture them. That's not what we do, right?” Reiner said.

Berthold looked alarmed that Reiner had even mentioned such a heinous thing—Jean too threw him a disgusted look.

“We should focus on getting out,” Armin said. “And argue later, if we have to.”

At least everyone in the room nodded in agreement.

“We'll head to the safe zones outside of Helena,” Annie said. “It's not far. We'll take the vehicles down 89 and onto I-15.”

“And how do we get out of the fucking building to do that?” Jean asked. He wandered over to the window and looked out. “There's a sea of monsters just waiting to sink their teeth into us. We have to be smart about this.”

“Then we'll leave you out of the planning,” Annie said and looked at Armin.

Of course, everyone had realized Armin came up with the best plans. He quickly went through the floor plans they'd looked at before they'd entered the city and picked out every single escape route from this room down to their vehicles. They'd need a distraction to get the zombies away from them, perhaps a flare, or a few grenades. They were precious, but in such circumstances, drastic measures had to be taken. _If only a tornado would show up,_ he thought grimly.

Nearly impossible odds aside, he chose the fire escape in the room next to this one. It meant going back into the hallway where he just heard zombies entering—some even started clawing the door. The fire escape led them to the ground, but after that, it'd be a swarm of zombies and an actual impossible path to the truck and Jeep. No one could afford to be left behind to serve as a distraction. Beforehand, they could throw a flare out of the window in this room as far as they could—Berthold had the best arm for that—and a good portion of zombies would go to investigate. That would still leave about two-thirds of the zombies down there. Another distraction, perhaps a couple of grenades thrown on the other side of the building, would be enough. Someone would have to go there, to separate, and find their way alone back to the vehicles, though.

Armin looked up and saw six pairs of eyes staring at him.

“We should wait till nightfall,” he said first. “They'll become more dormant as more time passes that we don't make noise or cause a scene. And they don't see as well in the dark.”

“Neither do we,” Jean commented.

Armin ignored him. “They'll be more attracted to the flares and grenades in the dark, too. We're going to use those as distractions. The first one out that window.” He pointed to the window Jean stood by. “A flare, thrown by Berthold, because he has the farthest throw.”

Berthold nodded, eyes hard.

“The grenades, two, or even three, will be thrown from another window on the opposite side of the building,” Armin said. “Which means that someone will have to separate from the others and be farther from the vehicles. It has to be someone quick.” He accidentally let his eyes stray to Annie for a split second. “Before that, the hallways have to be cleared. Without bullets. Then, when the plan starts, everyone besides the ones who are throwing, will descend the fire escape. As soon as they land on the ground, they'll whistle, and the flare will be thrown. When the other thrower sees that flare, they will immediately throw the grenades. Berthold, quickly go down the fire escape, and join the others to the truck and the Jeep.” He stared at the ground, thinking over escape routes for the loner by going through the floor plans again.

“As for the person left on their own,” Armin continued, still thinking. “There are no obvious escape routes to the ground except taking the stairs. But that will take too long, no matter how it is. They may have to jump, or scale the building.” Again, he thought of Annie, but forced his eyes away from her. Still, even without saying anything, she would be the first to volunteer, and she _was_ the most logical choice.

“The zombies will hopefully be distracted enough, and we can drive out of here. The roads should still be relatively clear,” Armin said. “Especially since they've gathered here.”

“I'll take the other side of the building,” Annie said. “But we should clear the floor out now while we still can make noise and come out of this thing alive.”

“Agreed,” Jean said, a little too quickly.

The squad looked at the teenagers. They had huddled close together, watching the mercs with wide eyes.

“Let's hope your information is worth all this,” Jean said, and spit on the ground.

Marco and Annie took to clearing the floor. They made relatively little noise. Annie probably stuck her knife in them, rendering them half-paralyzed, while Marco finished them. The duo came back forty-five minutes later, sweaty and tired. Armin smiled at them, relieved they had come back in one piece.

Annie sat down in the judge's seat, and stuck her knife in the wood. “We still have about four hours till a little after nightfall. Until then, we wait.”

 

June 1, 2019

MIDDLE

It was almost three months later. They'd had little discussion about the kiss. Or how Armin was in love with Eren. Not by avoidance. It just never came up. Since that day, Eren had spent most of his free time on physical and mental training. Mikasa worked at the shelter a few hours every day to help pay for a teacher to help with Eren's emotional well-being, and to balance his mind. Armin saw them little throughout the day, usually only at meal times and in the early morning and late. He busied himself with his own duties in the daytime helping random citizens around the town, likening himself to the protagonist of a video game. They were all just side quests to his main quest.

Of course, he still wondered what the main quest was.

Sometimes he skipped a few hours in the day to watch Eren train, timing him, cheering him on, or meditating with him. After two months, Eren had settled into the practice with ease, but Armin could not find a way to shut out all his thoughts. They lived in his brain like a city that never slept, that never turned its lights off, that didn't even know the meaning of the word sleep. He had so many plans, goals, worries, dreams, and ideas that even when he closed his eyes for the night, his sleeping dreams took him through a maze of his own mind, made him face the images, the words, until he said or did the correct thing and passed.

He often heard Eren telling Mikasa about it, about how he felt more comfortable with himself for the first time in years—even before the apocalypse started. It filled Armin with more joy than he could describe to hear that. Eren had always been a slightly troubled person, even in the happiness and carefree nature of childhood. Issues with his father helped spawn the troubles. And every little thing compounded on that until it all just exploded with the apocalypse and the subsequent loss of his mother and his leg.

With a more settled mind and body, Armin felt it was a better time to confront Eren about them, about their relationship. Eren had kissed Armin back, but he'd never said he had loved Armin as well. It was likely Eren hadn't been in a place to even conceive the idea that he might feel the same, and had simply been taken by a moment of passion. The situation had been charged to begin with, but the kiss just had added a whole new layer.

In exchange for an errand, Armin got his hand on some condoms and a tiny bottle of water-based lubricant. It was probably too soon to think about that, but he had them in case Eren ever felt like entering that kind of relationship with Armin. First he caught Mikasa when she returned from the shelter, and before she headed to the training center to provide moral support to Eren.

“I need to talk to you,” Armin said.

Most people hated that phrase. Even if they literally had no reason to worry. But Mikasa was not most people. Her eyes immediately lit up, like she was on a mission, and she focused all her attention on him.

Armin pulled the condoms, all five of them, from his jacket and showed them to her. “I haven't talked to him about anything since the day he failed the test. When we . . . when we kissed.” It sounded so unreal when he said it.

But Mikasa just gave him the most gentle of smiles, and took his hands in hers. “He's been hesitant to mention it to you. He's been working hard not only for his sake, but because he wants to be someone worthy of your love.”

“But he is,” Armin exclaimed.

“I know,” she said. “And I told him that. Still, you know Eren. He has to prove something to himself.”

“So . . .” Armin looked down. “It's probably not a good time, then?”

Mikasa shook her head. “That's not what I'm saying. Eren loves you very much. And what I saw that day wasn't just the emotion or desperation of failing the test and of hearing someone tell him they love him. He loves you more than I've seen anyone love another person. That meant so much to him. You mean so much to him.”

Heat rushed to Armin's cheeks, and he was sure he was the color of an _Enterprise_ red shirt's uniform. He moved his hands out of Mikasa's to look at the condoms again. “You think so?”

“It's not a matter of belief,” Mikasa said with an even bigger smile. “I know it. I think now's a good time to talk to him. I've never seen him like this before.”

“Me either.” Armin laughed a little and looked up at her, eyes round and hopeful. “It'll be nice to do it properly. So I don't have to think of that night anymore. Instead I can think of him. I mean, whenever we . . . if we ever . . .”

Mikasa put a hand on his shoulder, eyes somber. “I understand.” Her eyes widened and she pulled back a bit. “Armin, you're trembling.”

He hunched over and clutched the condoms close to his chest. “I'm scared.”

She moved to his side and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into her warmth. “Scared of what?”

“That I'll ruin everything,” he said. “That I won't be good enough.”

Her lips touched his hair. “Of course you're good enough. You'll ruin nothing. There's nothing to be scared of.” She hugged him tighter. “Okay?”

It was so easy to believe it when Mikasa said it.

She waited with him until Eren came back from training, sweaty, and talking up a storm about his new time. “There's no way I can fail it now, even with this son of a bitch,” he said with a rap on his plastic leg. “How come you didn't come to the training center, Mikasa?” He plunked down on the cot and put his hands on his head. It was stupid to him, but at that moment, Armin noticed just how toned and muscly Eren's body had become from the months of training. He bit his lip so hard it drew blood—he sucked on it discreetly so no one would comment. Luckily, all attention was on Eren.

“I was tired,” Mikasa said.

“Psh, yeah right,” Eren said, but did nothing more to argue the fact. “I could sleep for five thousand years. But I don't want to close my eyes. I don't even think I can.” He gave a lopsided grin and a loud contented sigh. “I'm going to ace that fucking test.”

Mikasa smiled. “I'm glad.” She glanced at Armin and then said, “I'm going to see if I can get a late-night snack. I'm a little hungrier today than usual.”

Eren laughed. “Good luck!”

She waved and then it was just the two of them.

Armin stared at Eren—starting from his feet and following his legs up to his hips, to his chest, and finally to his face. He was so pretty. Even lying there sweaty and probably smelly, he was so _pretty_. The smile on his face just sealed the deal, and suddenly Armin wasn't so nervous anymore, because this was Eren, his best friend. Eren who he loved more than anyone in the world. Armin would spend a hundred years in each circle of Dante's Hell for the boy on that cot.

“Eren,” Armin said in much too dreamy of a voice.

“Yeah?” Eren turned his green-blue eyes onto Armin. “How was your day? Help another little old lady across the street?” The grin stretched wider and Armin's heart had to restart.

He blushed and looked down at his shoes. “It was fine, I suppose.”

Something in his tone caught Eren's attention, and the darker-skinned boy sat up. “Is something wrong?”

Armin smiled and shook his head.

“Then what?” Eren said with a tiny laugh.

Armin looked back up and something in his eyes made Eren go rigid and swallow. “I should probably help you with your leg.” He moved to the ground and put his hands on the leg. As he carefully removed it, Eren watched him with curious eyes. And when Armin put the leg safely under the cot, Eren's eyes got that sparkly look in them that made Armin want to jump off a waterfall seven times from happiness.

“There you go,” Armin whispered and sat next to Eren and avoided his gaze.

Eren put his hand on Armin's, like it was some nonchalant move—Armin's heart did somersaults—and he started talking like nothing had happened. “I've never slept so well in my life like I have the past few nights. And I'm thinking, we should enjoy it while we have it, because they're going to kick our asses in merc training. I've heard some of the instructors can be pretty ruthless. But I'm going to get in the top five.”

“I'm sure you will,” Armin said. “No, I know you will. Hey, Eren?” He tentatively looked back at the boy.

Eren was still looking at him. “Hmm?”

Without thinking, Armin just leaned forward and planted the tiniest of kisses on Eren's lips and then moved away. His whole body stiffened up like he was made of only bone.

But Eren just remained smiling, eyes sparkling, and the urge to kiss him tried to take control again.

“I should have told you,” Eren said in a low voice, finally looking away. “When you said you love me, I should have told you I love you too. But there was a lot to take in and I couldn't think.” His finger absentmindedly stroked Armin's hand.

Armin just stared, mouth rounded, repeating those words over and over in his head so they'd never leave.

“Ah, hell, I think I was in love with you years ago when I didn't even know what the hell love was. At least,” he said, “not this kind.”

He could have fainted, but Eren's hand connected to his kept him steady.

Eren looked back and his eyes searched Armin's face. “I'm sounding kind of sappy, aren't I?”

Armin shook his head.

His hand traveled up Armin's arm slowly, his fingers trailing with the lightest touch to cause goosebumps, until it rested on the back of Armin's head, and then Eren came forward to touch their lips together. This kiss was slower than the first one, more like the movement of melted gold, or chocolate syrup. Armin curled up a fist against Eren's chest and lost himself in the boy's lips. He tasted like sweat, but at the moment, Armin could think of nothing more delicious. And when the tip of Eren's tongue poked against Armin's mouth, and then touched his own, he could have melted right then and there into that gold he had been thinking of just seconds before.

Their bodies moved down until they lay beside each other on the cot, kissing, legs intertwined with each other. One of Eren's hands traveled down the length of Armin's side and rested just below his hip. Almost like an instinct, Armin moved his hips into him until he realized what he was doing. But Eren only smiled for a second during the kiss and Armin relaxed again, absorbing into Eren, taking the same breaths as him, and moving the same as him, as seamless as water through fingers.

Eventually Armin pulled away and whispered, “Eren?”

“Armin?”

He bit his lip to hide a smile, and said, “I have some . . .” His hand fished into his pocket and fumbled around for so long, that Eren took over and pulled a condom out himself. When he glanced down to see what it was, his expression became so innocent and full of wonder. “If you're not comfortable, if it's too soon--”

Eren kissed him, with more vigor this time, fingers knotted in his hair, and his other hand digging into the skin on Armin's hip. It lasted only a few seconds, and then he snatched the condom again and sat up. “No. I'm . . .” His eyes lit up with an intensity Armin had seen so many times before, but never _because_ of Armin. “I am. I want to. Do you think Mikasa will be go--” He stopped and then tilted his head to the side. “She knows doesn't she?”

Armin shrugged.

“Of course she does.” Eren took a fistful of Armin's shirt and pulled him up to kiss him again. Their arms wrapped around each other, probably too tightly on Armin's end, though Eren said nothing. He seemed willing for just about everything.

When Armin teased at the edges of Eren's shirt, the boy pulled away just long enough to take the shirt off and continue kissing the blond. In wonder, Armin's fingers brushed over the lines in Eren's stomach. His abdomen was so firm, and it was so close to him, that Armin felt his own skin heating up just by thinking about it.

Though his first time, if it could be called that, had been the least ideal, he still knew the basics, and he could use that knowledge to walk Eren through his own first time. He lightly pushed on Eren's stomach to get him away so he could slip out of his own shirt, and so they could focus on something other than kissing. Not that kissing Eren was bad in any way, but they had plenty of time to kiss. Right now, it was their time to explore, and Eren was over-excited, like a puppy on his first day in a dog park.

He did, for a moment, get distracted by the bulge in Eren's pants, and he cleared his throat to focus on what he had been about to say. “I don't know if you want just oral, or if you want anal too. I mean, I have lube for the latter.”

“I don't know. What are you excited to try?” Eren asked.

Armin smiled. “Are you up for either or both?”

Eren shrugged. “Sure.”

“Okay. I'll lead you through it then,” Armin said.

“You sound like you've done this before,” Eren said with a laugh.

Armin made an awkward noise and then tried to brush it off, but Eren had seen the mere second-long shift in his behavior and he frowned. “Wait,” he said. “You haven't done this before, have you?”

“In my dreams?” he said lamely. With a sigh, he continued. “It's not . . . my first sexual experience no.”

He expected Eren to be angry, but no, the boy just bobbed his head up and down. “When was this? Who was it?”

Memories flashed through Armin's mind, and he looked away.

Suspicion entered Eren's voice. “Who was it Armin? What happened? Hey, are you okay?”

Armin let out a dejected breath. “It was . . .” He looked into Eren's eyes. How could he lie to his best friend? Of all the things to lie about, this could not be it. “When you got your prostheses. Me and Mikasa we . . . we made a trade. Part of it was our hair.” His hand vaguely gestured to his crown. “And the other part was . . . well, it was basically our bodies.”

Now came the anger, a scorching, barely controlled anger. Eren's body shook, and his hands gripped the edges of the cot. “You two . . . for me? For a fucking leg?” he whispered. “Dammit.” Tears entered the corners of his eyes.

“It's okay,” Armin whispered.

“Like hell it is!” Eren shouted. “I didn't fucking deserve that. There's nothing that could happen to me that is worth you two . . . you two . . .”

Armin took a long breath in. “Anything is worth helping you!” he said in a hushed, but impassioned voice that grew louder and louder with each word. “It was our choice to make, and we made it. We weren't going to let you go through life without that prostheses. We knew what would happen to you. You might not even be alive if we hadn't. But we love you so we did what we had to do. And it was worth it. You can't even begin to imagine how we feel about you. So don't you fucking dare tell me that you're not worth it. That you don't deserve any of the good things that happen to you, because you do.”

The last word hung in the air, echoing through the room.

Eren just stared, eyes wide, jaw open.

Armin deflated. “I'm sorry . . . I shouldn't have yelled.” He stared down between them.

A few seconds later he saw a drop of water land on Eren's leg. And then another. When Armin looked up, Eren was crying. And then suddenly his arms had wrapped around Armin in a tight hug. After a moment, Armin wrapped his arms around Eren too. They embraced for almost five minutes, until Eren had spent his tears and he pulled away.

“Don't . . . don't ever do something like that again, okay?” Eren said, voice quiet and firm. “I won't ever be in that place again. Not after all that's happened. Not after what the three of us have been through. So promise me.”

Armin gave a tiny nod. “I promise.”

“Hey,” Eren said in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. “Let's . . . let's just lay together, okay? Maybe that's sappy, I don't know.”

Armin smiled. “That's not sappy.”

They lay back down on the cot, Armin as the big spoon.

When Mikasa came in thirty minutes later, she announced, “We're going to Disneyworld.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Squad puts Armin's plan into action to escape Great Falls, quiet picnics, saying goodbye to an old friend, and Armin and Annie alone with a lot of jerky!

November 3, 2026

Three Plus Three

The night settled in. Armin stood near the window, gazing down at the horde of silent zombies, lulled into sleep mode with the setting of the sun. They looked so easy to kill, but even at night, Armin knew one move and they would all wake up. Even sleepy zombies were overwhelming when there were so many of them. Everything was resting on his plan.

Despite her being the obvious choice, Annie’s role in his plan worried Armin. She was small and fast, just what the role required, and he knew she would get it done. But if anything happened on the mission, anything at all, the first thing they’d all lose was Annie. Armin didn’t want to think about going on without her, because they all needed her.

“It’s time,” she said now, breaking through his thoughts.

He turned from the window to look at the others. They were faint shapes, hardly visible even though his eyes had adjusted the best they could to the darkness. “If we don’t make it, if something happens--”

“Hey,” Reiner said, lifting his one good hand in the air. “Don’t do that. Leave that for when we actually need it.”

Jean got to his feet and squeezed Armin’s arm. “The plan will work out just fine. We’re not amateurs here.”

At the word amateur, Armin cast a wary look at the two teenagers. No, all the mercs in the room may not have been amateurs, but those two were, even less than that. Armin’s plan hinged on everyone knowing their part and not losing their head, a guarantee none of them could glean from the teens. When all hell broke loose, they would be the most unpredictable players on the field, even more so than the zombies.

“I’ll get over to the other side,” Annie said, getting to her feet.

They all stood in silence a moment, glancing between each other. Usually now Jean would have some kind of witty one-liner to ease the tension, but he was just as silent as the rest of them. Only when Annie moved, leaving them, did they finally all move themselves, going to the other room with the fire escape.

“You’ll be all right?” Berthold whispered to Reiner.

“Takes more than losing a hand to stop me,” Reiner said and ruffled his hair.

Armin gave Berthold a nod and joined the others in the other room. “I’ll go first, then.” Silently, he opened the window and stepped out onto the fire escape. It creaked the tiniest bit, but not enough to draw attention to him. He put a finger to his lips as he looked at the others, and then motioned for them to follow him down.

“Make a sound, I’ll kill you myself,” Jean whispered to the teens, and Armin winced.

The six of them carefully made their way down the fire escape, painstakingly slow to keep from making too much noise. Just before they reached the bottom, Armin held up a hand for them to stop, and he looked at the area. Most of the zombies were focused on the front side of the building, where Berthold was ready to throw the flare. They’d all run to it, and in the confusion, they wouldn’t notice Armin and the others slipping through them to the cars.

 _Okay, okay,_ Armin thought over and over in his head. It was quiet enough that Berthold would be able to hear his whistle through the open window. He held up his hand to the others again, this time counting down, and when all his fingers had curled into a fist, he gave the signal, a clear whistle through the night air.

Only moments later, Berthold threw the flare, and it lit up a good distance from the building. Immediately, the zombies began to growl, perking up at the sight and sound of the flare. They began stumbling towards it, gaining speed the more alert they became.

“Go, go!” Armin whispered fiercely, and all of them jumped down from the rest of the fire escape, following the zombies who were too focused on the red-pink flare to give them any due.

As they were rounding to the front of the building, three grenades exploded on the far side, one after another. Even more zombies awoke, making their way to the source of the commotion. Now everyone just had to get to the vehicles. Armin could see them, a thick crowd of zombies blocking them. But the zombies weren’t looking at Armin and company. They’d still have to move between them, hoping the zombies were too excited to notice.

The six of them hit into the zombies, killing any of them that looked too long. And then they bounced between the bodies, pushing down their disgust and fear--

Until the teens made noise, screams that would never issue from zombies, and the zombies knew that. Jean put his hand over one of their mouths, but it was too late: the undead had caught on to the plan, and now many of them were reaching out to embrace the humans and turn them.

“Go!” Armin shouted at them all as he began slashing. Berthold joined in a moment later, and the two of them served as the distraction while Reiner, Jean, Marco, and the teens kept going for the vehicles.

“We can’t hold them off!” Berthold warned, as if it needed to be said.

 _Doesn’t matter. As long as we get everyone out. If I have to go down to get them out, that’s okay._ He stabbed through two zombies together. _It’d be okay._

At least one of the others had made it to the vehicles, because bullets started ringing out. Armin turned in shock to see who it was, but a zombie clambered into him, and the two of them went toppling to the ground. The zombie’s teeth came down towards Armin, but he moved his head out of the way just in time, and the zombie ate concrete instead. Armin grabbed its head and twisted with all his might until most of it ripped away from the rest of its body. Zombie blood spilled over his face, but he managed to close his eyes just in time.

Berthold kicked the body off of Armin and got him to his feet. A zombie grabbed hold of Berthold’s arm, trying to pull it to its mouth. Another bore down on Armin again and he slashed out at its knees. He chopped the arms of the zombie attached to Berthold, and then the two of them continued towards the vehicles.

More bullets rang out, from more than one gun.

“No!” the teenage girl screamed out, followed by Jean trying to call her back.

In the light of the flare, Armin saw the girl run from the truck, arms outstretched in front of her, running towards something on the ground. Jean was running after her, and he managed to grab her around the waist and hold her up in the air so her kicking legs couldn’t take her farther.

“Let me go!” she cried out.

“He’s been bit! We can’t help him,” Jean shouted. “Goddammit, will you stop?! You wanna die too?”

Berthold ran past Armin over to her brother.

“Berthold, no!” Armin called.

But Berthold ignored him, kneeling down beside the brother and putting an arm around him to get him to his feet. Two zombies grabbed a hold of him, one on the back of his shirt, and the other his arm. They wrenched him back so fiercely that Armin heard the snap of Berthold’s arm breaking. Berthold cried out and he and the brother fell to the ground.

One bullet each sliced through the foreheads of the zombies, no doubt from Marco.

Armin ran to Berthold, helped him to his feet, and they left the brother behind, both scrambling towards the truck and Jeep while Reiner and Marco covered them. Jean and the girl ran with them, her still crying but perhaps finally accepting of her brother’s fate. All of them jumped into the truck bed.

“Where’s Annie?” Reiner called out from behind his gun.

Armin stood up and looked frantically over the writhing area. Nothing was still, and if Annie was there amongst the horde, it would be impossible to see her, especially in the light of the finally-dying flare.

“We should just leave!” Jean said as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“We can’t leave her,” Armin said quietly.

No one heard him.

“Armin, drive the Jeep!” Jean said.

But Armin didn’t look away from the zombies. He couldn’t leave Annie behind.

Zombies began circling the vehicles, arms and hungry fingers outstretched. One of them grabbed the girl’s ankle, and she screamed. Marco put it down and began firing on the others encircling them.

“Goddammit, Armin, listen to me!” Jean shouted. “Get into the Jeep and start driving. There’s no way she’s going to make it through that!”

Armin’s face scrunched up in pain and he ripped his eyes away from the zombies. He jumped on top of the truck’s cabin, and then made a flying leap over to the Jeep where Reiner was firing from. He slashed at some zombies intent on getting him, and then turned on the ignition. Jean followed suit with the truck. He turned on the headlights, and then jumped in shock as they lit up the shape of Annie.

“Annie!” he cried out in relief.

She climbed the hood of the Jeep and then swung her way on the outside to sit beside Reiner.

“Let’s get the hell out of here!” Reiner called.

Armin put the Jeep into drive and hit the gas. The two vehicles ran over a few zombies to get back to the streets, and it got easier to drive the farther they got from the Civil Building, until finally they left Great Falls behind them.

Reiner remained standing, and Armin was aware of Annie beside him, but no one said anything. Eventually, she did shift to the passenger seat as they were following the winding canyon path south to Helena. They sat for another five minutes in silence before Annie lifted her hand to his face and he had to stop himself from flinching. Maybe she sensed his discomfort, because her hand fell back to her lap almost immediately.

“You have blood all over your face,” she said.

Armin glanced up at the moon, just coming out from its long hiatus behind the clouds, and the in the rearview mirror to see for himself. It was true. It wasn’t just splatters of blood like usual, but more like he had painted the blood purposefully over the entirety of his face. It freaked him out, so he quickly looked back at the road.

“How’d you make it out?” Armin asked.

“The zombies were more concerned with all the commotion you guys were making to bother with me,” she said. She glanced over her shoulder at the truck following behind. “Jean was so ready to leave me behind, wasn’t he?”

Armin gritted his teeth. “I would never let him do that.”

“He listens to you more than anyone else,” she said. “But I’m glad to have both of you.”

Armin blinked in surprise and looked at her. Her face was nonchalant, staring ahead at the road. “You’re glad to have _Jean_?”

The tiniest inklings of a smile appeared on her face, but other than that, it remained unchanged. She pointed a finger ahead. “Watch the road.”

A loud bang popped behind them, and then the truck was slamming on its breaks. Armin stopped too, and the three of them in the Jeep quickly got out to see what was the matter. Jean was just getting out, slamming the truck door, and bending down to look at the front left tire. Marco shined a light on it from the truck bed: the tire had blown.

“Well, shit,” Reiner said. “We don’t got a spare.”

Jean straightened up and then kicked out at the truck. “Well, we can’t all ride in the Jeep, and I’m not leaving the supplies in the truck behind.”

“Some of us will have to stay then,” Armin said. “We’re not so far from Helena. Some of us can stay, the others go to Helena, and then just come back and get us when you can.”

“We’ll have plenty of jerky,” Annie said dryly.

Armin smiled a little and then looked at Jean. “I’ll stay.”

“So will I,” Annie volunteered immediately after.

Armin forced his eyes to stay on Jean. “We’ll protect the truck and the supplies while the rest of you get to Helena. Berthold and Reiner need their arms looked at, and we need to get the girl back too. One person has to drive, and then one person has to keep watch.”

“I can keep watch,” Reiner said.

Jean remained staring at Armin too, his gaze even. “Okay. I’ll drive. Marco will keep watch. The girl is small enough she can sit up front. And then Reiner and Berthold can stay in the back. Anymore than that, and we’d be pushing the Jeep’s limits unless we threw _all_ the supplies into the truck.”

“We’ll need those,” Marco said softly.

“Then Annie and I will stay behind, and you’ll come back for us,” Armin said.

“You sure you’ll be okay?” Jean asked.

Armin finally glanced at the others, mostly Berthold and the girl, and then he nodded. “Yeah. Of course. I’ve got Annie. We just have to pull the truck into the trees where it won’t be noticed.”

“All right, let’s get to it, then,” Jean said, getting back in the truck.

Berthold and Reiner moved to the back of the Jeep and began talking to him quietly so the others couldn’t hear. The girl looked at them with a vacant expression, their bond perhaps reminding her of the brother they left behind. Armin wanted to feel sorry for her, that she was the only one who had lost something back there, but she had fled to Great Falls with her brother in the first place, for reasons still lost to him. So he looked away from her easily and motioned to Jean that everyone was ready to go.

They stopped the truck a few hundred yards from the road, cleverly hidden by the trees. There weren’t any zombies around, but any mercs going by, or freelancers, would love the chance for some free supplies if they had the chance. People turned on each other. Armin had heard enough stories. He didn’t want them to have their first personal taste of it.

“Be safe, make good choices,” Jean said and hugged Armin.

Armin laughed a little. “We’ll be fine.”

Jean glanced in the direction of the road, where Annie was at the Jeep saying goodbye to Berthold and Reiner, and then gave Armin a serious look. “Look, I _am_ glad she made it, for all our sakes. But yours mostly.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Armin said. “If she hadn’t shown up, we would have had to leave. I know that.”

Jean’s brows pulled together in concern. “I wasn’t there the first time you lost someone important to you, but I don’t want to watch you lose another one. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“Thanks,” Armin said quietly. “You be safe, too.”

Since they’d met each other in Topeka four years ago, this was the first time they were going to be actually apart. It felt wrong, and Armin was scared something would happen, that they wouldn’t see each other again. After all, it had happened with Eren and Mikasa, and the world was cruel. The circumstances were wholly different, but still just as terrifying.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Jean said, perhaps sensing exactly what Armin was. “We haven’t had to say goodbye to each other before. Not like goodbye goodbye.” He put a hand on Armin’s shoulder, and Armin grabbed a hold of Jean’s wrist.

Marco came over. “We have to get moving.”

Armin and Jean looked over at the Freckle King for a moment, then back at each other.

“Right,” Jean said, retracting his arm and backing up to stand by Marco. “The others are waiting. We’ll be back.” He and Marco held up their hands as they made their way back, and Armin waved back to them.

They passed by Annie, who was making her way down from the Jeep. She came to a stop by Armin’s side. They just stood there, listening to the sound of the Jeep’s engine starting, and the sound of it continuing on down the road, until they were pitched into silence.

\--

July 15, 2025

NEW TRIO

After training, they’d always stopped by Topeka to rest and for Armin to visit Mina. On July 15, 2025, they drove up to a smoking town, half of it blocked off from the rest, quarantined. When Armin asked, the soldiers said, “We were attacked a few days ago, lost half the city. Now everyone who was trapped there are zombies. Goddamn shame.”

“What part of the city?” Armin said.

The shelter, the one Armin and Jean had met in. The field where they’d played soccer before training. And the blacksmith. Among the names fallen, Mina’s was on it. But no one had killed them yet, the zombies in the quarantine zone. No one had the heart. Before they did, Armin wanted to find her, to find Mina. He had to be the one to put her down, not the military.

“They’re not going to let anyone in,” Marco said, when Armin told him and Jean his plan.

They stood near the gate, Armin eying it carefully, and the three guards posted there. He could always climb in, but the barricade was high. It’d be tricky to get over. And there were soldiers everywhere. The best way was to get a guard to let him in.

“Besides, there’s zombies crawling all over the place in there,” Jean said. “I’m not going to let you go in there. All right? This is crazy.”

“I have to say goodbye,” Armin insisted. “Come on, Jean, you knew Mina. She’s in there right now. Our friend.”

Jean glanced at the gate and then shook his head. “Some things we just can’t do. You can’t just sneak around in there.”

Armin turned away from them, his jaw set in determination. “I have to go in there. I know some things we can’t just do, but this isn’t one of them. I’m going to find her.”

“Let him go, Jean,” Marco murmured.

In hope, Armin looked back at the two of them. Marco’s face was gentle, reassuring, and Jean just melted underneath it. Finally, he put his hands on his hips and swung his head over to Armin in resignation. “Fine. You better come back.”

“I will,” Armin promised. “Everything will be fine.”

The guards eyed him suspiciously the whole way over. Armin stopped right in front of them, an innocent expression on his face and his eyes round. He glanced at the gate, then looked at them. “I’d like to go in.”

One of the guards shook his head, the other laughed a little, and the center one just gazed down at Armin, eyes still narrowed. “What the fuck’s wrong with you, kid? There’s nothing in there but zombies, not until we gas them all.”

“My friend’s in there,” Armin said.

Now two of them laughed.

The center guard only frowned. “No one’s friend is in there anymore. Get lost, kid.”

“If I turn into a zombie, I turn into a zombie,” Armin said. “It won’t be anyone’s fault but mine. But I’m going in there. I won’t let anyone else kill her.”

“She’s already dead,” the guard said, his expression softening somewhat in sadness. “Please, kid, just do us all a favor, yourself most of all, and just turn around. Get out of here. Don’t think about this place again. There’s _nothing here anymore_.”

Armin shook his head. “She’s not dead until I see her dead.”

One of the guards leaned over to his friend. “Come on, Jeff. Just let him through. He wants to get himself killed, let him.”

The guard named Jeff sighed. “All right. But you have to find your own way out.”

“Thank you,” Armin said.

They opened the gate just a smidge, enough for Armin to slide his body through. And then the gate closed, and he was left in the quietest Topeka he’d ever heard. Quickly, he began making his way through the streets at a jog, on the lookout for zombies. He saw a few here and there, but most of them were so taken in by the silence that his quiet footfalls didn’t register in their brain.

He passed the shelter, forcing himself to look ahead rather than at its walls, rather than letting the memories overtake him like they so easily could. The blacksmith was near, and the sign still said open. He let himself in and stood in the musty, dim shop.

“Hello?” he called. “Mina?” Faint hope stirred in his chest, like she might actually be alive still, just hiding out. She had so many weapons at her disposal, and even though she wasn’t a fighter, anyone had a chance with an arsenal.

Just in case, he kept his knife out, the one he had made only a month or two ago under her watchful gaze. He stepped around the messier-than-usual room, eyes glancing over new schematics and writings she’d made since he’d last seen her. 

“Mina!” he called again. He stopped at the foot of the stairs that led up to her room, a place he’d never been. There was a thump from up there, and he swallowed. With a glance back at the workshop, he began making his way up the stairs, his back to one of the walls.

Just as he reached the door, there was another thump. Armin reached out to touch the doorknob. He counted down from ten, then flung it open, knife raised. Nothing. He crept in farther, turning a corner until he could see a kitchenette and a bed. Only the bathroom remained, and when he heard another thump, it came from there.

“It’s Armin,” he said softly, so sure now that Mina was not a human. She would have come out a lot sooner if she was still herself.

It sounded like she was in the bathtub. When he called her name again, there was noise, like she was climbing out. Her feet slid across the tile towards the door.

Armin swallowed again and steeled himself for her appearance.

She stopped in the doorway, head hunched over, shoulders forward, arms hung limply at her side. Not much time had passed since she’d turned, so she still looked relatively normal. That is, until her head lifted up to hiss at him. Most of her flesh had been ripped away, perhaps by her own nails in the madness of turning, and her eyes were bloodshot, like she’d been strangled.

Armin’s arm wobbled a little as he took her in. A small, shaky breath escaped him, but then took in a longer one to steady himself. “Mina.”

Mina’s lips curled up over her rotting teeth, and she took a step towards him. Then another. When she was close enough, she fell forward, arms extended like she wanted to hug him in reunion. He let her. And as her arms came around her, his knife plunged into her temple. She fell limply against him, her teeth brushing his shoulder. Armin pulled her closer, his nose against her hair. It still smelled like her, and it made him squeeze her tighter.

When he pulled the knife from her head, the blood gushed out over him, but he didn’t notice. He just gently fell to the ground with her and lay her on the floor. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he looked over her face. “You didn’t deserve this.” He moved some hair out of her face and then closed her eyes. And despite her rotting skin, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. He was left with an odd taste on his lips that he couldn’t get rid of with his tongue, so he resigned himself to its presence for however long it would last.

Before he left, he gathered some of her materials, schematics for an upgrade on the rose knife. There hadn’t been much more to teach him, and though he would of course never be as good as she was, he had the skills to make more rose knives. So he folded the papers and put them in his pockets. Then he bid that place goodbye forever.

\--

March 30th, 2012

BEFORE

It was the quietest birthday Eren had ever celebrated. Eren always reveled in finally being the same ages as Mikasa and Armin. The three of them chose to celebrate being only one digit at their favorite park. Carla had made food for a picnic, and the four of them sat on a quilt Carla’s mother had made years and years ago. The park was busy that day, full of every type of person and dog you could think of, all of them enjoying the warm, sunny day.

“Mom, why can’t _we_ get a dog,” Eren bemoaned as two little terriers ran by thier picnic, tongues lolling out on the side of their mouths.

Carla just gave him a little smile. He’d asked her a million times, but it wasn’t Carla putting the stop on the idea. Grisha hated dogs, and he said he was allergic. So no dog. Or cat. Or anything remotely cute and adorable and fluffy.

So Eren pouted like he always did, but didn’t argue the point. When they were done eating, the three of them ran to the playground and played starship, with Mikasa as the captain, Eren the first officer, and Armin the science officer. They battled invisible aliens who were intent on taking over Earth, and when they ended victorious, Earth saved, they did a victory dance.

When the swings became free, they each took one and swung in tandem.

“I can go the highest!” Eren challenged, and Mikasa and Armin just smiled, letting him go the highest, content to just pleasantly swing.

When Eren got really high, he let go and jumped into the sand.

Mikasa and Armin just slowed to a stop and came over to join him.

This park was the last one with real sand in their area. All the others had bark chips, the actual worst, or the weird rubbery stuff. Even their school had been converted to evil. Now this park was their last real sanctuary.

“I wonder what it’s like to be ten,” Eren said. “Does something different happen when you get two numbers?”

“Armin will be the first to find out,” Mikasa said.

Armin smiled. “I’m sure it won’t too _too_ different. Not until twelve. Then we won’t get kid discounts anymore.”

“Boo,” Eren said. “I like discounts. And so does my mom.”

“That’s because she’s the one who’s paying,” Mikasa said.

“Maybe we should do this on every nine,” Eren said. “Which makes next time when we’re nineteen. That’s so _far away_.”

Armin lay down, and sand got all in his hair, but he didn’t care. “Hopefully by then we’ll have gone to one of our places, you know. Maybe England, cuz that’s the closest.”

The others lay down too. Mikasa took Eren’s hand.

“Of course,” Eren said confidently. “We’ll go to all three by then. That’s easy!”

Armin’s smile widened. “And we’ll have a dog by then, too.”

“Great Dane,” Mikasa said. She was still adamant about the breed.

They all hummed in agreement. Then Eren turned his head to look at each of them and said, “Let’s go pet everyone’s dogs!”

\--

November 4, 2026

THREE PLUS THREE

They sat in the truck bed and didn’t say anything for hours, neither of them finding anything to say nor being able to fall asleep. Annie chewed on some jerky, and Armin washed his face and watched the woods until the sky lightened, somewhere hidden by the mountains, the sun waking up for the day. The sunrise was mostly pink, with some orange. It looked like sherbert, and Armin’s stomach growled for the first time in a long while.

There was a rustling, and then in the corner of his eye, he saw Annie offering him a piece of jerky. As he accepted it, he looked at her, but she was staring off at something else. His eyes lowered, and he nibbled on the jerky. Then before he knew it, he had eaten ten pieces, and his stomach was growling, only in satisfaction now.

“It was my birthday yesterday,” Armin said.

Annie stirred a little. “Yeah? How old are you now?”

It actually took him a second to remember what year it was, because the year was less important than the month and day in the mercenary life, and then when he remembered, he did the math. “I’m twenty-four. When’s your birthday? I’ve never asked.”

She smirked. “Twenty-five. And I’m a March baby.”

 _Oh, god. I’ve fallen for another one,_ Armin thought. _At least she’s not the same age as him. Then I’d be really hopeless._

Annie looked at him. “Happy birthday.”

He gave a shy smile and looked away. “Thanks.”

She looked away again. “How long do you think it’ll take them to get back?”

Armin watched the clouds move overhead. “It only takes about an hour to get to Helena from here. Especially with no traffic.” He smiled at that. “And then once Berthold and Reiner are all settled in at the hospital, Jean would have to find a spare tire, which won’t come cheap and might take some time, and then there’s the drive back, which is another hour.” He paused, formulating a final answer, and settled on, “Maybe around sunset.”

In answer, Annie just grunted. She took another piece of jerky. “So, is there anything you want for your birthday?”

An idea did immediately appear in Armin’s mind, but he cursed himself for thinking it, and just shook his head, as if everything in his mind had been entirely innocent. “Not really. I don’t really care to celebrate it. That’s mostly Jean and Marco who like to do that still.”

Annie wasn’t fooled, of course. Still holding the piece of jerky in front of her, her eyes swiveled over to him and she gave a sly smile. “Right.” She tore into the jerky, and only when she had finished the whole piece did she talk again. “As to your question, I’ve been too busy to think about getting married.”

Armin blinked, wondering when he had asked her about marriage. When it came to him, he laughed a little. “Wait, are you only answering this now after more than a year?”

She actually smiled, free of any sarcasm. “It wasn’t any of your business then. I didn’t know you. But you’re a part of my squad now.” The smile died, and she gave him, for the first time, an expression of both sadness and longing. “You’re a good friend, too.”

He was too shocked at her display of emotion to answer.

And as quickly as it had come, the expression vanished and she looked away, looking a little bummed at his reaction, or at least his lack of words.

“You’re a good friend too,” he said.

Annie glanced at him, and whispers of the smile from before returned.

A little after that, she fell asleep. In her unconsciousness, she fell over, her face resting on his shoulder. Armin forced himself to stay awake to watch the woods, make sure no zombies or unfriendly mercs crept up on them. Just as he was losing the battle, nodding on and off, Annie woke up, and for a moment, thoughts of sleep dashed from his mind.

Annie yawned and sat up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep so long. You’re probably exhausted.”

He was about to lie when a huge yawn overcame him, and when he had blinked away the tears the yawn brought, he saw Annie smiling at him, not with her mouth, but with her eyes. They were even sparkling a little in amusement. His cheeks grew warm, and he knew he was blushing, and that it was obvious in the noon sun, and it just made the smile reach her mouth.

“I’m . . . going to . . .” He scooted himself down towards the tailgate more so he could lay down the best he could amidst all the supplies. “Go to sleep. Wake me if you need anything.”

“Just go to sleep already,” she said.

Almost as soon as his eyes closed, he was asleep. And either he had no dreams or he simply forgot them when he woke up again, feeling rested despite the cramped circumstances. It wasn’t his first time sleeping in the truck bed. He awoke to the smell of jerky; Annie was eating some more. But despite how hungry he was, his stomach rolled a little. He was already sick of jerky and it hadn’t even been a day.

He scooted himself back into a sitting position, checked the time--he’d been asleep for about five hours--and the sun was very close to the horizon, even if he couldn’t see it.

“Do you usually talk in your sleep?” Annie asked.

“What?” Armin said too sharply. He cleared his throat. “Was I talking?”

“About someone named Eren,” Annie said, offering some jerky.

Armin made a face, but took a piece anyway. “I was talking about Eren . . .?” he murmured, mostly to himself.

“Is _he_ your home?” Annie asked.

Armin avoided her eyes, instead focusing on the details of the jerky. “Eren . . . yeah. Eren and Mikasa. We grew up together.”

“What happened with you three?”

His voice was very quiet when he answered. “Eren wanted us to become mercs. Back then, I didn’t want to. I couldn’t. I never wanted to be someone who destroys things.” His hand made a fist, squishing and bending the jerky in his hand. “And when he finally knew that, when I finally told him, we kind of . . . he felt betrayed. It was bad.” His fingers relaxed and he stared at the misshapen piece of jerky.

“And you ended up becoming a merc anyway?” Annie said.

Armin blinked and looked up at her finally. “I . . . Jean gave me a convincing argument . . .”

“You think you destroy things because you kill zombies?” Annie said, her voice disapproving. “You’re helping them. Putting them out of their misery.”

“How do we know that, though?” Armin asked. “Most of the time I can believe it, but sometimes . . . sometimes . . . I don’t know. We don’t know what it’s like for them until we become one. And by then it doesn’t matter; there’s no reversing the infection.”

Annie’s face was stone-cold, and so was her voice. “It’s faith.”

Her words spurred memories of a few years ago, after Jean and Marco had graduated from training, when they were ready for their first mission and Armin had met those two Mormons, Sasha and Connie. They had been so confident and faithful, even then. They thought killing zombies was helping, was the Lord’s work. Seeing them, Armin believed it. But that seemed so long ago now. Now he just felt too old and tired.

He slid down a bit and stared up at the awakening stars. “You know, after training, I lost my friend Ilse. She was in St. Louis on some mission before she came to join us again, but she never made it out. And I never went to find her, to find her journal, like I said I would. I had no idea what she looked like when she was turned. 

“And then a few weeks before I met you, I had another friend who was turned. Her name was Mina, and she’s the one who taught me to make that rose knife I gave you,” Armin said, glancing at it on her hip. “I went to her, and she still looked so much like herself. She wasn’t incredibly aggressive. She kind of just stumbled towards me and fell into me. I killed her, and it was different, because I had known her. Every other zombie I’ve killed has been a stranger, just a zombie to me. But not her. And I couldn’t help but feel like I was murdering my friend.”

Armin cringed and shook his head. His eyes watered. “Sometimes it’s so easy, and then sometimes it’s just . . . it’s just so _goddamned hard_.” He closed his eyes and threw his arm over them. “I get dreams of life before this happened, and they’re nightmares to me. I wish so much that they weren’t, but I can’t change the way they make me feel. I don’t know how.”

There was a sound beside him, like Annie was moving to lie down as well, but he kept his arm over his eyes, determined to hide his tears from her.

“Armin.”

He winced when she said his name, but still refused to look at her. “I act like I’m fine all the time, but I’m not. Pretending’s the only way I’m still standing. Fake it till you make it, right?” He gave a mirthless laugh.

“Armin, look at me,” she said. She touched his arm, and almost instantly he moved it away and looked at her with watery eyes. Her expression was unreadable, but she was looking at him intently all the same. “Everyone’s faking. That’s all anyone ever does. Even before this. Everyone was just faking to get through it. It’s okay.”

Armin kept his breathing even somehow, maybe through the power of her icy eyes. He reached up and took her hand tightly.

Her eyes fluttered a little. “Armin,” she said again, as if she knew how calming it was for him to hear her say his name. “When the time is right, you’ll find your home again.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathed.

“Why?” she asked, sounding a little annoyed.

But Armin didn’t answer. He just pulled her hand closer to his chest. “You mean a lot to me, Annie. I don’t know why, but you do.” _I just want to tell you in case I lose you. Losing people seems inevitable. My family, Eren, Mikasa, Mina. Someone has to be next._

Annie frowned. “No one’s dying, Armin.”

For some reason, Armin laughed. Then he pushed her hand closer to her and let go. “There’s your hand back. Sorry.”

Annie’s eyes searched his face, but before either of them could say anything more, they heard the sound of an engine. They sat up quickly, each pulling out a gun. The vehicle’s headlights flashed into their eyes, and the vehicle itself stopped just a few yards ago. Annie and Armin held hands up to their face to block the light.

Armin breathed out in relief when he heard Jean say, “Came back as fast as we could.” Jean stepped in front of the beams and grinned. “Happy to see you both in one piece. Hope you haven’t had too much fun without us. Now let’s change the tire and get the hell out of here.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened with Eren and Armin, and Annie lets Armin know something.

June 3, 2019  
MIDDLE

It was still toxic, they’d found out, but only in specific areas. All they had to do was go somewhere that had cleared up. There would still be zombies everywhere, but Disney World had plenty of high ground, and zombies really needed stairs in order to climb. Mikasa led the way a couple nights later, asking Armin and Eren to trust her because she knew exactly where to go. Of course they trusted her, but they were slightly baffled that she had done research without telling them until a couple of days ago. Maybe she had been saving it for the right moment, and after that awkward conversation, Armin and Eren needed a change of pace, something to keep them on their toes, always thinking, always moving.

They hadn’t talked about the incident really, but perhaps they had said all that needed to be said. Armin knew it was hard for Eren to accept, but the boy did seem to be trying. They held hands as they followed after Mikasa, Eren keeping up the rear because he didn’t want anything to jump out at Armin.

So maybe the incident had put him in over-protective mode. But if that was the effect of learning about Armin’s past, then Armin was okay with it.

In the end, they climbed on top of a building with no roof access outside Assassin’s Creed-ing their way up the wall. From there, they had a decent view of the park. And in the distance they saw a few zombies standing around. There might have been more closer, but they were probably skulking like zombies tended to do.

They swung their legs over the side and sat side-by-side, watching the last legs of sunlight illuminate the park before they were swallowed by the horizon.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner, Mikasa?” Eren asked.

Mikasa pulled her scarf up over her mouth and said in a muffled voice, “You two were busy with other stuff. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Armin gave a contented sigh as he looked out over the park. “This place sure is spooky. A lot different than the last time we came here.”

Eren laughed. “They’re probably still out of churros at that one snack stand.”

“Probably,” Armin said softly.

Eren put and arm back and leaned his weight on it. “What was the last Disney movie we watched?”

They were all quiet for a long moment as they racked their brains. Honestly, Armin couldn’t remember. He knew the last movie they’d watched at all was _Gravity_ , and that was only a few hours before everything had started. Back then he might have preferred to be floating in space by himself rather than stuck in the middle of the apocalypse. But with Mikasa and Eren at his side, it wasn’t so bad. Things couldn’t be if they were around.

“I don’t know,” Mikasa eventually answered for the three of them.

“We should sing,” Eren decided, leaning forward now so he could look at both Armin and Mikasa clearly.

“That will bring over every zombie from here to EPCOT,” Armin said.

Eren put a finger to his lips. “Ssh, ssh, no, not if we’re quiet. Like we’re singing lullabies. Like . . .” His eyes lowered a moment. “Like my mom used to. When I was really, really young.”

Armin took Eren’s hand away from his mouth, setting it on his lap as he interlocked their fingers. “I suppose. Maybe _Lion King_?”

But Mikasa suggested, “ _Aladdin_ ,” and Eren immediately, without pause, just started singing “A Whole New World.” Somehow, he sang it with just as much passion as if he had been belting it like he had as a kid. Maybe it was the more mature voice, or the fact that he sang it to Armin like Armin was Jasmine. Except when Jasmine’s part came along, Armin didn’t remember all the words so Mikasa took over--with Armin mumble-singing nervously in the background. 

They moved on to _Lion King_ eventually, which Armin knew all the words to, even now. Mikasa sang it with abandon, eyes closed, and Armin realized it had been a _long_ time since he’d seen her look so free. Or perhaps ever. It was nice to see, one of the good side effects of the zombie apocalypse. He’d love to see Mikasa like that more often.

_Though, if there hadn’t been this whole thing, maybe she just would have grown into being like this._

When they moved on to _Hercules_ , things got really intense as they tried to be all the voices of the Muses at once. It was a beautiful mess, and towards the end of the song they forgot about volume. As the last note rang out, they noticed a couple of zombies curiously moving towards their position.

“Shit! Get down!” Eren said with a chuckle as they all dove behind the barrier they’d been sitting on.

They pressed their backs against it and waited with heavy breaths. The zombies could be heard snarling down on the ground, and they even scratched at the windows for a while, but eventually, when the sun was completely gone and they were stuck in a star-studded blackness, the zombies grew quiet. Mikasa peeked over the edge for them and made sure the coast was clear.

Even with the zombies gone, they decided to move location, sitting on some giant rock sculpture they could reach from a nearby roof. It was less comfortable, but provided a better view of the park.

This time they went with something more gentle Disney songs, one that wouldn’t tempt them to start nearly shouting. Mikasa had the best voice of them all, even for the lower notes, so Eren and Armin mostly sang background as they let her take lead. Partway through the chorus, Eren nudged Armin, and when he looked over, Eren was suddenly kissing him.

There were few things in life more romantic than kissing Eren on a rock sculpture in a zombie-infested Disney World whilst being serenaded by Mikasa’s rendition of “Beauty and the Beast.”

When Eren finally broke the kiss, the moved away only so he could lock eyes with Armin. His hand hovered at Armin’s cheek, thumb gently brushing his jawline. And he was smiling, eyes glowing like there was nothing wrong at all with the world.

And Mikasa didn’t mind flying solo. As Armin and Eren closed their eyes, leaning against each other, she sang on.

-

September 12, 2019  
THE MIDDLE

 

They had exactly two weeks until the October trials. Eren had been working nearly nonstop the past few months. There were only a few days Mikasa or Armin could convince him to take a break, not allowing him to push himself the way he’d done before. Even so, Eren knew his limits, which grew bigger and bigger every day he trained his body. By the time they tried again, he probably would have been better than even Mikasa. But who knew if she’d even give them an honest test. It was entirely likely she would slow herself down so Eren thought his hard work was paying off to the max.

In any case, on September 12th, his time looked to be coming around three minutes under fifteen.

Armin had a feeling he would make it in. That left a big problem, because he was afraid his time with Eren was coming to a close.

They’d been doing so well ever since the kiss in Disney World months ago. In fact, they’d been the most blissful months Armin had spent in his entire life, even including the global situation. Eren and Armin understood each other so well, and they loved each other in a way Armin knew was unbreakable, no matter what happened.

_No matter what happens._

As Mikasa and Armin were waiting for Eren to finish, coming up on eleven minutes, Mikasa said offhand, “Have you told him?”

Outside of that conversation they had years ago that Eren had probably forgotten, no. Armin hadn’t really said much else on the subject to Eren. He was scared, and rightly so, he knew. Eren wouldn’t take it well, even if it was Armin--no, _especially_ since it was Armin. When they’d been young, Eren had been disappointed, almost in denial.

_”You can always change your mind.”_

Now after all that had happened, Armin couldn’t imagine his best friend and lover letting it go so easily, if at all. He couldn’t be in denial forever. One of these times, really soon, Armin would have to face him, tell him the truth. Eren deserved the truth, and a lot sooner than now, but Armin still had been putting it off.

Even Mikasa has known for almost a year, but she had figured it out on her own. Maybe that meant Eren secretly knew, too.

The idea of being in denial hurt Armin. That meant _he_ was hurting Eren, and Eren was pretending that wasn’t the case.

_I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you._

As to Mikasa’s question, Armin shook his head and glanced at his feet.

She was quiet herself for a few moments, before saying, “I can tell him for you.”

Armin brought his shoulders in. “It should be me. He’ll hate me more if you tell him.”

“He could never hate you,” Mikasa said, looking over. “You’re still planning on going, right?”

This time, he nodded. He swallowed away a lump in his throat. “He’s going to make it this time. It’s not just hope, I know he is. And when you go, I can’t follow. Not to training, not on missions. They don’t let you if you’re not . . .”

Mikasa sighed. “I support you, Armin, but I still have to ask . . . Is there any way I can change your mind?”

“I don’t think so,” Armin said, then he smiled a little and looked out to where Eren should have been appearing in just a few seconds. “But thanks, Mikasa.”

Her arms wrapped around him, her face smooshed into his shoulder. “Then this is my goodbye, Armin.” She squeezed him tighter. “ _Goodbye._ ”

Lo and behold, at 11:37, Eren appeared around the corner. When he saw them--Mikasa pulled away from Armin--he lifted a hand and waved, grinning. He crossed the finish line at 12:10, his best yet. “Whoo!” he cried out and took Armin by the arms, swinging him around a little. “How’d I do, huh?” He wrapped his arms around Armin, chin on his shoulder, as he peeked at the clock over his shoulder. “Nice!” he said and then kissed Armin’s neck.

“We’re joining the mercs in a couple of weeks, ladies and gentlemen,” Eren said, pulling away.

Mikasa and Armin just looked at each other.

“Let’s eat. I’m starving,” Eren said. “They got any beans?”

“I’m sure they do,” Mikasa said with a warm smile.

“I’ll get them,” Armin volunteered. “You go rest.”

Eren gave him a peck on the lips. “Thanks, babe.”

No matter how many times Eren called him that, Armin would always blush, as he did now. It just made Eren all the more jubilant. He looped his arm in Mikasa’s and the two of them headed to their bunks while Armin stared after them, cheeks warm, but heart cold.

The line for food was long, and only after nearly an hour was he on his way back with their meals. He fumbled at the door, trying to juggle the food so he could open it. As he was figuring it out, he heard Mikasa and Eren’s voices from the other side of the door, louder than usual. Armin stopped and put his ear to the door to hear better.

“Where’s this coming from?” Eren was asking, voice serious and dark.

_Mikasa . . ._

“It’s a feeling,” Mikasa said. “None of us know what’s going to happen when we become mercs. Being in a relationship will only make things more painful. There are no guarantees, not even the little we have right now.”

One of the bunks creaked. “Then why didn’t you tell me this earlier? Before we got together? I love Armin. Breaking up now isn’t going to do anything. We’ll still love each other. We’ll still be together all the time.”

“I’m just warning you. I don’t want you to get hurt,” Mikasa said. “Either of you.”

Eren’s voice lightened a little, pain entering it. “Is there something you know that I don’t, Mikasa? Are you hiding something? Because if you are, I need to know.”

 _No . . ._ This was Armin’s chance to go in, to be able to tell Eren himself, but he was a coward. He just stood there, ear pressed to the door.

There was silence, perhaps Mikasa wondering if she had said too much.

_It’s okay, Mikasa . . . I’m right here. I’m telling you you can._

“I can’t,” Mikasa said.

“Why?” Eren demanded.

There was silence again, followed by Eren saying, “Armin told you not to tell, didn’t he? Whatever it is, he doesn’t want me to know. So you came in here, hoping you could convince me to break up with him or whatever without telling me . . . telling me why. Well, you need to tell me right now.”

Armin shut his eyes tight. _Let’s go back in time to Disney World, when things were okay . . ._

“I _can’t_ ,” she said again.

“Dammit!” Eren said, followed by the sound of him punching something. “I’ll go ask him myself.”

Armin only had the chance to take a step back from the door when Eren flung it open. The froze in the doorway as he looked at Armin, his eyes wild. Then they softened somewhat. “Armin,” he said. “You need help with that?” He took the food from Armin anyway. “Long line?”

Clenching his jaw, Armin nodded.

Eren glanced back at Mikasa who had her back to them, probably cursing herself for the conversation getting out of hand. “Armin,” Eren said again in a slightly distracted tone. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

Armin opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

Eren came forward, just in front of Armin, so he could close the door behind them, separating them from Mikasa and leaving them completely alone in the hallway. “Mikasa thinks we should break up.”

“I . . .” He swallowed to get some spit in his dry throat. “I heard.”

Now Eren’s eyes were steely, his voice hard. “I need to know.” In a whisper, he added, “Please.”

“I’m leaving,” Armin blurted out.

Eren just stared at him a moment, trying to register the words. Then he gave a tiny laugh. “Wait, what do you mean you’re leaving? I don’t understand. What are you talking about?” The more he spoke, the more urgent and desperate his voice became. “You don’t mean you’re leaving us, because . . . because there’s no reason you would do that. You can’t leave Mikasa. You can’t leave me.”

Armin’s face scrunched up in pain. “I’m sorry, Eren,” he said weakly.

Moisture gleamed in the corner of Eren’s eyes. He put a hand on the wall to steady himself. “Why?”

“You . . . you want to be a merc. I can’t,” Armin said.

“Why not?” Eren asked sharply.

Armin flinched back, but not because he was afraid Eren would hurt him. Never that. Quite the opposite. Eren was masking his pain as anger. Armin hated it. “I want to do something that will help rebuild our society. Being a merc, that only destroys.”

Eren searched his face, brows low over his eyes. “How the fuck can you say that after everything we’ve seen? The only way to help our world is to kill those things out there.”

“I want to help people _now_ , Eren,” Armin said.

“And killing zombies doesn’t do that?” Eren shook his head. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. After training, you can just come with Mikasa and I. You don’t have to be a merc to be with us.”

“You know the rules,” Armin said. “You know that I can’t do that unless I go through the training, unless I become a merc. But I don’t want to. I can’t do that.”

“Fuck the rules. They won’t know,” Eren said. His hand moved from the wall to grab Armin’s collar.

Armin put his hand over Eren’s tightly. “That may be true, but I can’t do what I need to do by travelling with mercs, Eren. I need to be in the cities, where the people are.”

Eren looked at where Armin was holding him, and the tears spilled out of the corner of his eyes silently. His voice came out wobbly and dry. “I just got you, Armin. I just got you. And now you’re saying I have to lose you? I love you!”

“I know!” Armin said. “And you know I love you, too, but Eren if you follow this path, I can’t be with you. I love you more than anything, but I can’t sacrifice who I am just to be with you. I can’t.”

Eren’s eyes widened. “You . . .” He released Armin’s collar and stumbled back into the door. “No, I don’t want you to ever do that. But there has to be a way, Armin. I don’t want to lose you.” He looked around in confusion, breathing hard. “We’ve . . . We’ve planned this for years.”

“No,” Armin said sharply, without meaning to. “No,” he repeated in a less aggressive tone. “ _You’ve_ planned this for years, Eren. I’ve always known that if you became a merc, we’d have to go separate ways. I put off telling you because I didn’t want to hurt you--”

“If you had told me,” Eren said, “we could have had years to figure out a solution.”

“I _have_ had years,” Armin said. “I’ve thought about it. It won’t work.”

Eren shook his head. “No. There has to be a way.”

In a resigned tone, Armin said, “Eren, there isn’t.”

“Because you’re giving up,” Eren said.

Armin flinched. “I’m not,” he said quietly. “If we stay together, one of us has to give up what we’ve been wanting our whole lives. I don’t want to take your dream away from you.”

“But I want _you_ , too,” Eren said angrily.

“And I want you,” Armin murmured. “But we can’t have both, not each other and both of our dreams. Not in this world.”

More tears spilled from Eren’s eyes and he turned away in shame. “Fuck,” he said under his breath.

Armin reached out a hand, but Eren opened the door before his fingers could reach him. Eren stopped again, eyes locked on the floor intensely. It looked like he wanted to say something more, and Armin waited patiently, but then Eren just glanced up at him and then headed back to their bunks, to Mikasa.

_Eren . . ._

-  
August 1st, 2006  
BEFORE

Armin had never been in a room full of complete strangers before. His grandfather had dropped him off with the promise that Armin would find friends in no time, that he would have the time of his life. “Your teacher will be amazed at how smart you are!” he had said, and Armin believed him. He still believed him, but now he was nervous. Who were all these kids? Was his teacher actually nice? She had really poofy, blonde hair and bright pink lipstick and she _looked_ nice. The other kids Armin was the most wary of; kids liked to tease him, sometimes cruelly so.

He chose a table in the corner by himself and no one came to join him. So he just looked at the other chatty kids who were all playing with each other, getting to know their neighbors. Then there was Armin, wearing his favorite hot pink turtleneck, the most noticeable thing in the room next to the teacher’s lipstick, completely alone, hands in his lap, eyes on the fake wooden table.

_I just want to go home._

He heard some voices near the door, a mother apologizing for being late because she had to jump start her car at home. But here was her son, so excited for his first day of school, and thank you so much for responding to her email on such short notice. They had just moved to a different house and life was hectic. The dead battery was just Murphy’s Law, right?

_Murphy’s Law?_

Someone scooted a chair in just the right way to send a chilling screech through the entire room. A moment later, someone asked, “Hey!”

Armin blinked and looked up, meeting the green eyes of a dark-skinned boy who was grinning like Christmas had come early. 

“I like your shirt! It’s bright!” the kid said.

Armin just glanced down at his shirt and mumbled, “Thanks.”

The kid leaned his elbows on the table. “My name’s Eren! What’s yours?”

“A-Armin,” he said, looking down again as his cheeks reddened.

“That’s a cool name! Awesome!” The kid stuck out a hand. “This is what my dad does when he says hello to people! Hi, Armin!”

Armin looked back up, eyes round.

“Come on!” Eren said with a smile that made his eyes sparkle. “You’re going to be my best friend!”

Armin slowly lifted his hand and shook Eren’s hand; it was cold and clammy, just like Armin’s. That made him feel a little better. Maybe this kid was just as nervous as Armin, but he was better at hiding it. Or maybe he just had cold, clammy hands.

“Hi,” Armin said quietly.

Eren scooted his chair around the table so he could sit right next to Armin. “You ever watch _Star Trek_?”

“My grandpa watches that,” Armin said.

“Do _you_?” Eren asked, drawing out the vowel sound to ridiculous lengths.

Armin laughed a little. “No.”

“No! Let’s watch it!” Eren said, putting his arm around Armin’s shoulder. “You wanna watch it, Armin?”

It seemed like there was no option to actually say no, but the idea was exciting. He’d never really hung out with someone before. He’d never really had a friend that lasted more than a couple of weeks. Everyone got tired of him. But Eren seemed different. Hanging out with him sounded fun. It felt okay to say yes to him.

“Hello, everyone!” the teacher called as she closed the door. “Welcome to the first day of school! Yay!”

Eren whispered seriously, “Later,” and then leaned his elbows back on the the table to listen.

Armin watched him as the teacher spoke, as he listened to her speak. He had a zealous glow in his eyes that outshined everyone in the room, like at that very moment, there was literally nothing that could _possibly_ be more exciting. And looking at him, Armin could believe it.

He smiled himself and put his hands carefully on the table as he, too, tuned in to the teacher. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eren shoot him a glance and grin again.

_Maybe school won’t be that bad after all . . ._

-

September 26, 2019  
THE MIDDLE

They didn’t talk about it. At all. Or much of anything, really. Armin was trying to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. He knew Eren was still adamant about making things work out, but if he had come up with a solution, he hadn’t told Armin. The test was tomorrow and Armin was sure now that there was no alternative. They only had a few days left together after Eren and Mikasa passed the merc test.

He didn’t join Eren or Mikasa for their final training, preferring to lie down and catch up on some rest. Ever since he’d told Eren he was leaving, he had felt too sick to sleep. If he did manage to catch any, he was quickly woken by disturbing dreams. So he lay with his eyes closed, not asleep, but calm and content as he could be given the circumstances.

 _Is there any way I can change your mind?”_ Mikasa’s voice echoed in his head.

_I’m sorry, Mikasa. I’ve tried myself, but every time, I come back here, to leaving. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life killing, even if it’s zombies. I want to help the people that are still alive, make their lives a little bit easier. I can’t do that as a merc._

He’d been with Eren for fifteen years of his life. He couldn’t believe there had been four without him, and now there was about to be who knew how many. Maybe they wouldn’t even see each other again. Both of them had a high chance of mortality. Everyone did. One day, Eren could bite the bullet on a mission, and one day, Armin could get bit when walls failed to protect him. Come October 1st, maybe Armin would be cut off from his family forever.

Armin would be sitting at that table in preschool again, all alone.

He curled into the fetal position, brow furrowed. _I don’t want to be alone._

The door opened and Eren and Mikasa returned, both sweaty from their practice runs. Mikasa sat down by Armin. “Record times for both of us, Armin.”

Armin reluctantly moved to a sitting position. “That’s great.”

“Doesn’t sound like you think it is,” Eren said as he reached down for his canteen. He drank what little remained inside and wiped away some dribble at the corner of his mouth.

Before Armin could respond, Mikasa just said, “He’s just tired. We woke him up.”

“I’m glad you have time to sleep. You’ll probably be getting lots of it when you don’t have to worry about me anymore,” Eren said. “At least you won’t have to fuck anybody for me anymore.”

Armin and Mikasa both got to their feet, Mikasa with her hand on his arm to keep him back. But Armin wasn’t planning on anything violent. He was surprised himself Eren’s words had shot him up so fast. After all, wasn’t he expecting Eren to do something like this? Turn his pain to anger? That’s what Eren did, so it shouldn’t have hurt so bad.

_But it does. Don’t do this, Eren. Please._

“Eren,” Mikasa said in a warning voice.

Eren tossed the canteen onto the bunk and stared at it. “Sorry, I didn’t . . . I didn’t mean that.”

_I know . . ._

“Have you changed your mind?” Eren asked, turning to them.

Armin frowned. “You know I haven’t.”

“Why?” Eren asked.

“I . . . I told you why,” Armin said in confusion. “I want to help.”

“And why isn’t what I want to do helping? We’ll be making sure there’s less of them out there,” Eren said. “So people don’t have to be as afraid. Eventually, we’ll get them all and the world will be safe again. _How_ is that not helping?” he shouted.

Armin didn’t flinch this time. He rocked on heels a little and then took a few steps closer to Eren. He swallowed; it was unbearable being so close to Eren with such bad energy around them, without being able to touch him and making everything okay with just that one touch. This problem couldn’t be fixed like that. This was different than all the others.

“I don’t want to wait to start helping people!” Armin said. “I want to actively do something. I want to make life better _now_ , not _eventually_. If we work to help the world rebuild now, then when the zombies are gone, it won’t be so hard to get back on our feet again. The groundwork will be there!”

Some others in the room rose from their bunks and left, grumbling about the noise.

“But you can’t fucking do anything while the zombies are still there. They’ll still be attacking, and _anything_ you do will just be destroyed again, Armin,” Eren said, angry again.

“How do you know that?” Armin said. “They can’t destroy everything! We still have places all over the world they haven’t _touched_. It’s not hopeless to try and rebuild! If you _believe_ that, then yes, of course it’ll come true. But if you believe you can help, can change things, then you can! I know I can, Eren!”

Mikasa’s grip tightened on Armin’s arm, but he shirked violently out of her grip.

“What can you do? Who’s gonna listen to some nineteen-year-old punk, Armin? Nobody cares about what any of us think. Only the people in charge can do anything,” Eren said. “Unless we get a gun and a sword and we go out and kill those zombie bastards ourselves. That’s the only thing _we_ can do.”

“I don’t believe that!” Armin said. “I’m not useless. I know what I can do, and I’m going to do it. _Without_ killing these things who used to be people. Who could still be people!”

“Or maybe you’re just a fucking coward!” Eren said. “Like you’ve always been!”

Armin’s fingers curled into a fist, but he kept his arm down. He didn’t want to hurt Eren. He wouldn’t.

“Shut the hell up, Eren!” Mikasa shouted herself now.

Eren started in surprise and looked at her with huge eyes. But his surprise only lasted a moment before he was angry again. “Are you leaving, too, Mikasa? Are the both of you going to leave? You probably think I’m crazy, right? The cripple who wants to be a merc?”

“We never said that,” Mikasa snarled.

“Eren,” Armin said, “I don’t want to kill anyone. If that makes me a coward, then I’m okay with that!”

“We’re not going to be killing _people_ ,” Eren said. “They’re not people anymore!”

“ _How do you know!_ ” Armin asked.

“You’ve _seen_ them, Armin!” Eren shouted. “You’ve seen what they do to people. How can you think there’s still a soul in there? We need to protect the people that are still alive, that are still themselves. The only way to do that is to become mercs and put a bullet in every single zombie’s head!”

Mikasa moved to stand between them. She looked at Eren first. “Eren, calm down! This is Armin!”

Armin took a step back.

“Not the Armin I thought I knew,” Eren said, no longer shouting, but his voice laced with venom. “You want to be a goddamned coward, sit here and do nothing, pretending you think you’re helping, _fine_. Fucking go, then.”

Mikasa looked over her shoulder at Armin, eyes wide and brimming with tears. He met her eyes, wishing he could find a way to say goodbye to her properly, to tell her how sorry he was, but he didn’t know. All he knew was that he had to leave. Now.

“Fucking _go_!” Eren yelled again.

Armin looked past Mikasa to Eren, at the pain in his eyes, and felt his heart wither up. In a strangely calm, even voice, he said, “Okay.”

At the simple word, the pain in Eren’s eyes shown clearly, but he turned his face away, perhaps that being the only way he could hide it anymore.

Mikasa put her hands on his arms. She had already said her goodbye, but she hugged him again and then nodded. “We’ll see each other again,” she murmured. “I know we will.”

Armin managed a weak smile. It took him only a moment to grab the entirety of his possessions, all held in a tiny knapsack. The whole while, Eren refused to look at him, more focused on a stone column in the room. Armin glanced at him whenever he had the chance, each time cutting deeper into his skin than the last.

 _There’s nothing more I can say, is there? Eren, will you look at me? I love you. Please. Please, even if you look at me with nothing but anger and betrayal, I need you to look at me._ When he was ready, he faced Eren again, hoping that if he stood there long enough that Eren would give in and sneak even the tiniest of looks.

But Eren didn’t.

 _Please be safe._ He cast Mikasa one last look, and then headed for the door. Right as he opened it, he hoped, again, that Eren would do something, just say anything. Again he was let down when he heard nothing, and he was too scared to look over his shoulder.

So he just left.

-  
January 6, 2027  
THREE PLUS THREE

The strands of Annie’s hair that had escaped from her bun blew gently in the dusk breeze. She was standing on top of the wall surrounding Sioux Falls, flipping the rose-infused knife absentmindedly in her hand. She must have noticed Armin staring, because she eventually turned her head and gave him a quizzical brow. The knife stopped moving in her hand.

Armin, who was sitting on the ground, leaning up against a part of the barricade, blinked and said, “Oh, sorry, where was I?”

She shook her head and looked back out over the landscape, flipping the knife just once more. “You were about to sound out the last kanji characters for me and see if I could figure it out.”

“Was I?” Armin asked, puzzled he would have gotten so far in their lessons.

When he focused back on her again, though, he noticed her smiling to herself.

“No, I wasn’t,” Armin said, getting to his feet. He came to her side.

“Maybe you should,” she said. “Japanese is great and all, but I just want to know what this damn things says. Haven’t I waited long enough?”

Armin smiled and looked at the knife in her hands. He cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t know. I kind of liked our lessons. Gives me an excuse to spend more time with you.”

Annie snorted.

“Hey, I’m serious,” he said. 

It must have sound like he was genuinely wounded, because she looked over at him and said, “No, it _is_ kind of nice.”

_Oh. It . . . You . . ._

Annie smirked and looked away again. “You’re blushing.”

“I . . .” He put his hands behind his back and also looked out at the landscape, feeling the warmth spread from his cheeks all through his body. “Do you really want to know what it all says?”

“That’s too easy,” she said, then put the dagger away.

Armin sighed in amusement and shook his head, but said nothing. Even if their lesson seemed to be over for today, he did like standing there with her, watching the last of the sun vanish from the sky. Soon they’d be plunged into darkness, as they were standing a good distance away from the nearest floodlight. Unfortunately, then he wouldn’t be able to see her very well. Now was a perfect chance to just relish in how beautiful she was.

She tucked one of the loose strands behind her ear in vain. When it came loose again, she didn’t try to put it back. Besides, she seemed preoccupied with something else, and a moment later, when she spoke, Armin knew what was on her mind.

“Do you ever regret not becoming a merc when Eren did?”

Armin’s mouth rounded and then he frowned. “I don’t know . . . A part of me does, but a part of me doesn’t. If I hadn’t left him then, I wouldn’t have met Jean or Marco or . . . or you. And having met you, I know that there isn’t a universe where I would want that to be different. Losing Eren and Mikasa was hard . . . but . . . people just separate, don’t they? It’s what happens.”

“Do you think our squad will separate?” Annie asked.

Armin looked down at her. “Not if I can help it. And I’m a merc now. The situation is different than it was back then.”

“You’re older?” Annie said, though not as an actual question.

He said nothing.

“You miss him?” Annie asked.

“Of course,” Armin said. “Every day. But it gets easier every day. I don’t need Eren to survive, not like I thought all those years ago. Being away from him and Mikasa is probably the best thing that ever happened to me, as terrible as it sounds.”

“Does sound pretty terrible,” Annie said. “But I know what you mean. And I’m . . . glad.”

Armin smiled wryly. “Well, at least there’s that.”

Annie shook her head and turned to him. She nudged his arm to get him to turn as well, and when he did, she said, looking him squarely in the eye, “I’m not Eren.”

Armin moved back a little. “I . . . I know.”

She nodded firmly and grabbed his collar, pulling him down and kissing him. It lasted but a moment, and then she was freeing him--leaving him a wrinkled collar. “I’ve been thinking about that for awhile. Waiting any longer seemed stupid.”

“Uh . . .” Armin was still trying to recover from the sparkles in his head. “Uh, yeah, yeah. I . . . Did you just . . .” He blinked the fog away and looked down at her in surprise. “Wait, so you actually--”

Annie put up a hand to stop him. “Yes,” she said in a very matter-of-fact voice. Then her eyes drifted down to his lips, her eyes got a little foggy, and she repeated, more tenderly this time, “Yes.” She turned away and folded her arms to keep warm. “I know it sounds stupid,” she said, glaring at the landscape, “but I want to be your home. So that’s what I'm going to work towards.”

_But maybe already . . . you and the squad, you’ve become my new home. You have been for awhile now. I think I just didn’t want to let go of Eren and Mikasa, but . . . it’s okay to . . . It’s okay._

Armin blushed. “Annie.”

She looked at him, eyes round, looking more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her before.

He put a hand up to her cheek, gently brushing her skin. He tucked the loose strand back behind her ear again and leaned down, lightly touching his lips to hers. She kissed back, then nudged his nose with hers. When he laughed a little, she wrapped her arms around his neck. He breathed in her scent and shut his eyes tighter. 

“You _are_ my home, Annie.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annie trusts Armin, the Squad™ travels to BYU (WHAT? YES!), important news for everyone!!!, and words fail Armin a lot.

March 22, 2027

THREE PLUS THREE

 

She turned twenty-six. The morning was quiet and no one mentioned anything about it, not even Annie. There was a good chance she really had forgotten. They’d just gotten back from a two-week long mission up by the Canadian border the day before and everyone was tired and sore and thankful for a four-day respite in Sioux Falls that included a “free”--paid for by the military--stay at the nicest motel in town, the only one that somehow managed to stay clean. Armin and Annie had gone on ahead to claim the reservation while the rest of the squad put the vehicles and supplies in a safe location, attended the usual debriefing, and everything else they had to do after missions. Armin usually volunteered for that, but today was a special day.

Ever since their declarations in January, they hadn’t been too overt about anything. The others knew, of course, because Armin and Annie were always touching if they could be, even brushing shoulders if they were standing. And of course they’d occasionally glance at each other and smile, and not like any other smiles they’d given each other over the course of their working relationship. Jean and Marco sometimes smiled or gave Armin the eyebrows after one of Annie and Armin’s little exchanges, and Armin always grew red and shook his head. Reiner was fond of chuckling in a way everyone knew he was thinking of dirty things; Armin had no idea how to react to that.

Armin had no idea if Annie really noticed, or if she had--she probably had--she must not have cared at all. Sometimes Armin really wished he could be as chill as she always seemed to be. He really admired it, though he hadn’t told her--the smiles really got in the way of saying too much on his end, and maybe it was good to spare Annie Armin’s vomited ramblings of all the little things he loved about her. He didn’t want to tire her out--at least, not that way.

The two of them approached the somehow-not-dilapidated front desk--at least the concierge looked like he’d been living in the zombie apocalypse. He checked them in and sent them up. Not bothering with the other two rooms, Annie went straight into hers and Armin’s. He watched her go in from the hallway, his heart almost leaping out of his ribcage.

_Armin, this is far from the first time you’ve--_

Annie peeked her head around the door and gave him an inquisitive look.

He walked in the room past her, and she closed the door behind them, resting her back against it. Heart still thumping wildly, Armin smiled and turned, saying, “Wow, this place really is something, isn’t it?”

Annie glanced off to the side and then walked past him this time and over to the middle of the room. “Didn’t think there’d come a day when this piece of shit motel was the most luxurious place you could find.” She smiled a little to herself and then looked at Armin. “It’s nice.” She sat down on the bed, patted the mattress, and then lay down on her side, facing the wall.

Armin lay down beside her and lay his arm over her waist. Breath from his nose gently nudged the hair at her neck. It tickled his skin and eventually he just nudged the hair away and kissed her neck. “Hey, Annie?” he murmured into her skin.

She hummed in response.

“Happy birthday,” he said and kissed her neck again.

Annie wiggled in his arms, rolling over so she could face him, her nose just touching his. Her eyes had to go a little cross-eyed to look at him and it was so adorable that Armin couldn’t help but laugh. She made a confused face and he closed his eyes. “I just . . . really like you,” he decided to say.

“Funny,” she said, “I really like you, too.”

Again he laughed, eyes still closed as they lay there, arms wrapped around each other, keeping warm in the cool motel room. Winter was desperate to hang on, but not even the horrid season could beat out the snuggles--that’s what Marco liked to declare to everyone every time winter rolled around. But now summer was just on the horizon, and Armin thought of it as a metaphor, that things were going to get better now because he had Annie.

“Whatever happened to that whole ‘khaleesi’ thing?” Annie asked.

Armin’s eyes opened and he moved his head back a little so he could see her better. “Ha, I almost forgot . . . That was when I . . .”

Annie’s eyes moved downward and the arm that was squished between them moved up a little so she could brush her fingers over his lips. “Yes?”

Distracted by the delicate touch of her fingers on his dry lips, he tried to find the words he had planned on saying. But now his mind was blank and his whole body was aflutter. The way he liked Annie was so different from the way he liked--had liked--Eren. Both of them were good, of course, and neither better than the other, but they were so different in his gut and in his toes and in his chest. He wanted to hold Eren forever, and he wanted see Annie forever. So much _more_ of course; it was hard to really describe it. He wanted to be able to. Words were so important to him, and so were Eren and Annie.

_Are there words to do them justice?_

“Hmm?” she prompted again, looking back at his eyes.

Armin shifted so he could put his hand around the one she held at his lips. He took careful control of it, kissed it, then brushed his own knuckles over her lips before settling their hands at their chests where it was the warmest. “I’ve liked you for a long time, I guess.”

“No shit, dumbass,” Annie said. Her cheeks grew a little pink and she looked at his lips again. “I . . . might have liked your ass, at least.”

Her cheeks may have been only the lightest of pinks, but Armin’s face was red. “Really? I never noticed.”

“That’s because I’m sneakier at checking people out than you are.”

“I believe you,” Armin said.

Annie’s brows furrowed, eyes still on his lips. “Armin . . .” 

Her voice sounded serious and slightly pained. Alarm flared in Armin’s chest: who or what was causing her concern and what could he do to make everything okay for her? He gripped her hand tighter; in response, she pulled it closer to her where he could now feel the wild, erratic beating of her heart.

“It’s been years for me and . . . and . . . ” Annie let out a controlled breath. “So I’m . . .” The next word seemed hard for her to say, and once she said it, Armin realized why. “I’m _nervous_.”

Armin touched her cheek, gently brushing her skin with a thumb. “Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll do whatever I can to make you less nervous. What do you need me to do?”

She locked eyes again. “I . . .” Her mouth shut and she swallowed.

He brought his eyebrows together in a question.

“I just expected . . .” Annie’s eyes glanced away. “I just expected you to . . .” Her eyes came back, pupils dilated and nervous. “I don’t know.”

Armin smiled and gave her lips a chaste peck. Now that he knew _she_ was nervous, all of his anxiety had gone. All that mattered was that she was okay, that he did whatever she needed to feel safe and comfortable. It was a little surprising, he had to admit; though the more he thought about it, the more he understood how it made perfect sense. She had always kept her emotions in check, made herself withdrawn and distant, and though she’d never indicated as such, Armin believed maybe she had had some experiences in the past just like he had, ones that tried to taint the present and the future.

They could work on that together.

“Why the hell are you so goddamned nice?” Annie asked in a hushed voice, and though it sounded slightly angry, Armin knew it wasn’t directed at him. “You have no reason to be. None of you do--not you, or Berthold, or Jean, or Freckles. But all of you are. Especially you.”

Armin didn’t know what to say, but Annie continued without little pause.

“You know how many people took advantage of these fucking zombies to just be the shitty people they’d always wanted to be? And the people who used to care, they don’t anymore, because what’s the fucking point?” Annie hissed.

Honestly, Armin wasn’t sure how he had made it this far without losing who he was. Maybe he had just found the right company since the apocalypse began. With Mikasa and Eren, when they’d all been together, they made each other better, made each other hope. They couldn’t lose themselves when they had each other. And luckily after them, Armin had found Jean--though he had _no idea_ how Jean had managed to stay so happy and sarcastic when it seemed he’d been alone more than Armin had.

It was true: a lot of people he met--the majority--were assholes or cold or just didn’t fucking care about anything anymore. Then there were those he’d met that stuck out in his mind: Ymir and “her girl,” Sasha and Connie the Mormons who were doing the Lord’s work against zombies together, Mina the blacksmith who’d buried herself in work she’d been so passionate about, and the friends Armin had briefly known at training before they’d all gone their separate ways. Those people hadn’t given up; they’d found someone, clung to them, lived life like they knew they could when they had each other.

The bad people paled in comparison, even if there were more of them.

Armin was just so glad he had happened upon the group he had now, as weird and kooky and wonderful as they were. They were what kept him sane, what kept him happy, what kept him _Armin_.

It made him wonder about that girl they’d picked up in Great Falls. She’d lost her brother, and had seemed willing to die to save him, even if he’d been bitten. _How is she doing now? Is she okay? Does she have anyone?_

Armin had truly believed he’d lose Annie that night. It had seemed a miracle she’d shown up in the headlights when she had. And it was scary to think he was ready to leave her behind, even if only for a few seconds. That was how you had to survive in this world, but he never wanted to resign himself to that ever again, no matter the circumstances. He’d already lost Eren, and not because of the zombies. Zombies or not, he wouldn’t lose Annie.

“Armin?” Annie asked, her voice wavering a little bit.

He blinked back to the present. “Sorry. Sorry, you just got me thinking.”

“About what?”

Armin’s mouth grew to a huge smile. “How I think I love you.”

Annie’s pink darkened, probably to match how Armin’s face was but a few moments ago. His face was still warm, probably too warm, but he had just come to realize that there was no reason for him to feel embarrassed or shy with Annie anymore. He didn’t have to be afraid or wary with her like he was even with Jean and Marco at times. How he even had been at times with Mikasa and Eren, though he’d been much younger then.

“I think I have for awhile,” he murmured. “In Great Falls, when I thought I might have to leave you behind.” She looked uncertain, but he ran his thumb over her cheek again. “It’s okay if you don’t love me. I’m just glad I know you, that you’re here, that _I’m_ in love with you. You make apocalypses seem far less dangerous than they are.”

She smirked and then bit down on her lip, maybe to keep a giggle away. “That’s not good. You can’t be losing your edge out there.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Armin said, putting his forehead against her and closing his eyes. “You’re a good person, Annie. And you’re right: that’s hard to find nowadays.”

“I’m . . . I’m glad I can be that to you,” Annie said. “Armin.” Her hand touched his cheek so he moved back and gazed into her serious eyes. “Can we . . . stop talking now?”

Armin blinked. “Wha--oh. Oh, you’re sure? You’re . . . not nervous?”

“I just said I was nervous three minutes ago, dumbass,” she said. “But the more time goes on, the worse it gets, so . . . unless you don’t want to--”

“No, I do!” he said, perhaps too hastily. He shut his mouth and then laughed nervously. “What do you need me to do? How can I make it easier for you?”

Annie grabbed a handful of his shirt. “Just be yourself. I trust you.”

There had to have been something in her past, but whatever it was, Armin didn’t need to know unless she wanted to tell him. And if she never wanted to, that was fine.

He pushed himself up and swiftly put a leg over her. Their fingers interlocked on her stomach, and then he bent down and touched his lips to hers. It was brief, and when his lips moved away she didn’t argue, though she did let out a little disgruntled whine. He only smiled as he planted feathery kissed along her jawline--those were his favorite kind. When he reached her ear, he gently nipped at her earlobe.

_Is this really happening?_

Annie wrapped her arms around his torso, nails lightly pressing into his skin. At the touch, goosebumps raised on his arms and he gave a giddy laugh.

“Armin, that’s my ear.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said more gently, a little bit of a giggle still in his words.

_I didn’t think I’d find this again, but here I am._

Annie moved a hand up to entangle in his hair. “You’re pretty, you know that?”

Armin grinned. “Funny, I was just about to tell _you_ that. You ready?”

She gave a small series of nods. “How many times you gonna ask me?”

“As many as it takes before I’m sure you really wanna do this. That you’re really okay with it,” Armin said seriously and kissed her lips again. He hovered just above them, skin grazing skin, waiting for her reply. When the affirmation came, he smiled against her lips.

_This world isn’t so bad, not when Annie’s a part of it._

_Wherever you are, I hope you too found happiness again. Eren._

-

July 12th, 2027

THREE PLUS THREE

 

The military sent Kirschtein Squad out of their zone to a small town by Utah Lake. The drive there was rowdy and playful as usual, but as soon as the squad broke into the valley, when they saw Salt Lake City, they grew quiet. The entire valley was barricaded off with a wall that even crossed over the mountains. It was definitely one of the more difficult safe zones to keep safe, what with the terrain, but they had done it. Armin put it down to Mormon diligence, because there really were a lot of them in Salt Lake, and if they could spend forty years building a temple, they would build that wall to keep the undead out.

The highway that cut through the valley, I-15, was still accessible. The people who lived in the safe zone merely used the bridges to cross over from one side to the other. What used to be freeway exits and onramps, however, was blocked off, and just beyond the shoulder on each side rose that great wall. Troops stood atop the wall, watching the lonely Jeep and pickup as they traveled down the barren highway. It was eerie driving down such a huge road with civilization on either side of them, as proper as you could get then. All the eyes burned into Armin’s body and goosebumps rose up on his skin. The sooner they were past Salt Lake City, the better.

Once they passed the Traverse Mountains, the walls were left behind save for a tiny line headed straight to the lake, keeping the fresh water cut off from the rest of the world too. But the squad swerved away to the east to Provo, their destination the university.

Apparently, it had come to light that a professor of biology there had important notes on the disease that had started the whole thing. He had fled the university when it had become overrun with the undead, hiding in a city just north of Great Falls. His nephew and niece, the people Armin and his squad had gone to rescue, had been attempting to reach him. Until recently, the military had found his hideout and remains. In his journal, he’d stated he’d left important materials at the university, for fear of the population finding out what he knew. As time passed and the situation grew worse, he’d come to regret that decision.

As they’d been sent to find the teens, bringing the girl back to Sioux Falls so she could tell the the military what she knew, Kirschtein Squad was being sent to the university to find the doctor’s notes. Armin was nervous about the importance of the mission, but with their success in Great Falls, the military must have had faith in them. Even if they did fail, there were plenty of mercs happy for a mission that would bring them glorious rewards.

The atmosphere lightened a little once they entered the Provo city limits, when they couldn’t see the wall anymore and Marco focused on specific directions to the university.

“We could have used the kid,” Jean said as they cruised along the streets.

Reiner was probably still grumbling back in the pickup about how he wanted to snipe off the zombies they occasionally saw lurking in the shadows. Without his hand, though, he’d become a pistol and knife guy. But they could at least all agree that it was better than Marco losing a hand; he was the best sniper of them all.

“They would never have risked such a valuable asset,” Armin said.

Jean gave him a sharp glance. “They trusted us before.”

Armin glanced over at him and his eyebrows cinched together. “Her value was unknown at that time. She could have been lying. Now that they know for sure . . .”

“Besides, she wrote pretty specific instructions,” Berthold said, waving the paper in the air.

Jean said nothing more on the subject, but snatched the paper out of Berthold’s hands so he could go over the information again.

“Turn just up there,” Marco directed. 

Armin glanced in the rearview mirror at Annie and Reiner in the pickup as he turned.

“The Widtsoe Building,” Marco said. “There’s the new one they were almost done completing!”

Armin didn’t look, too focused on parking the Jeep in a well-hidden area. The truck pulled up right behind them, an inch away, and then they all hopped out. Jean immediately jogged to a nearby zombie, cutting its head off and then waving the machete in the air with a flourish.

“Damn, that feels so good. Every time.” He kicked at the corpse. “Ugly bastard.”

The squad gathered around Armin and Marco. When Jean finally joined them, Annie said, “I’ll take point. Berthold you bring up the rear. Marco, I’ll need up front with me with the directions.”

Jean made a face, but rather than argue like he was so prone to do, he just moved himself to the back of the line, dragging Reiner along with him.

They entered the building quietly, ears pricked for any suspicious noise. Though the place might have been overrun with the undead years ago, it was very likely the zombies could have vacated the place in search of adventure in the noisy outdoors. Still, everyone held their breath, prepared for a zombie at less than a moment’s notice.

They met no resistance on the way to the office, however, and promptly shut the door in case any undead decided to walk by in the hallway.

“Well, that’s about it,” Marco said. “The directions lead here and say the notes are in a purple binder, but that’s about it. Nothing on the location.”

“And if this motherfucker wanted so badly to hide it--” Jean said, setting his machete on the dusty desk. “--it’s probably in some secret location. We’ll have to search every inch of this place, leave no textbook unturned.”

Annie and Armin took the file closet. Looking for a purple binder would be easy, as long as the professor had remembered correctly.

“It’s going to get dark soon,” Berthold said. “We should stay until morning.”

Annie opened her mouth to speak, but Jean jumped in first. “All right, you and Reiner get some supplies from the truck so we can stay here for the night. It’s as good a place as any. Then I want to clear out this section of the building, close all exits and entrances. Just make sure you don’t lock them.”

“What? We suddenly look like idiots to you?” Reiner asked, but there was lightness in his voice. He and Berthold were gone a moment later.

Annie and Armin took down two boxes, sat on the ground, and began looking at the first of their files. “I doubt he kept it here,” Annie said.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Armin said. He would look through every single file. There was a strange energy at the tip of his fingertips, powered by something unusual in the pit of his stomach, like there was nothing more important in the history of everything than to find that purple binder.

In the main office, Jean declared, “I’m going to start tearing this place apart. Maybe he had a secret compartment under the floor.”

“Only way you’ll get through that is with a sledgehammer,” Marco said.

“And bring the whole zombie population right here,” Annie muttered without looking at Jean.

Armin gave Jean a concerned look. “I’m sure it’s not under the floor.”

Jean stared at the tile beneath his feet for a moment, then he strutted to the other side of the desk, sat down in the chair, and said, “Fine, fine. But if we don’t find it and all that’s left is the walls and the floor, then I will go looking for that sledgehammer. This information is too important, and if we die, we die. At least the people who come here after us will know to look elsewhere.”

“Jean,” Marco said under his breath, shaking his head.

Just before it got dark, Berthold and Reiner returned with the supplies. “Got a few of the brain-biters, but there aren’t too many of them out there. I say we should consider ourselves lucky.”

“Don’t lose your edge just because there aren’t any zombies here now,” Annie said.

“Yeah, Jean might start hammering through the floor,” Marco said, much to Reiner and Berthold’s confusion.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a bad idea until it’s our last resort and we find the fucking research,” Jean said, searching through the desk drawers.

They searched for nearly three hours before most of them decided to take a break. Reiner stayed awake to keep watch and Armin did as well to finish the last three boxes in the file room. Annie had fallen asleep against his arm a while ago. Her face looked so peaceful and soft, all the tension gone. Occasionally, Armin would lean over and kiss the top of her head, smile, and then continue working.

When the entire file room had been cleared, he carefully moved, making sure to set Annie on the ground softly, a pillow under her head. Then he sat down by Reiner, looking at the solid, wooden door. At least without glass the zombies, if they were in the halls, couldn’t see the light from the squad’s lantern. They could sleep in peace as long as they were quiet.

“Get some rest, man,” Reiner said. “I got this.”

“I won’t be able to sleep until we find what we’re here for,” Armin confessed.

“It might not actually be here,” Reiner said with a shrug. “You do know that, right?”

Armin’s forehead crinkled and he shook his head. “No.”

Reiner tilted his head to the side, a question.

Armin looked over at sleeping Annie as he spoke: “It’s just a feeling I have. The professor’s research is here and it explains everything. Or, maybe not everything, but enough . . . Just the enough we all need to get out of this. To get the world back to normal.”

With a wry smile, Reiner said, “The world ain’t ever getting back to normal again, Armin, not like how it was. This shit has changed everything. We’re going to have a new normal. At least it’ll be better . . . That’s all I’m counting on. All I really need.”

“I’ve spent more than half my life with the world like this,” Armin said. “But the way it was before, it’s still . . . It’s still so prevalent in my mind and in my dreams.”

The smile grew and then Reiner closed his eyes and lay his head back. “I know exactly what you mean. Look, if you’re going to stay up, I’m gonna get some shut-eye in.” The guy was out before Armin could even respond.

“No problem,” he said quietly and took a deep breath. He let it out in increments and then leaned over to take Reiner’s knife from him.

He spent the hours cutting designs into the desk with his knife. Then he switched to writing phrases in Japanese, one of them being “Armin Arlert loves Annie Leonhart,” followed by their initials enclosed in a heart. The desk was no tree, but it would have to do. He smiled at his work, at the cheesiness of it. The world had tried to rob him of teenage romance tropes; “tried” being the operative word. Armin would do what he can, and seeing the heart and the initials warmed him more than any blanket ever could.

There was no topping that, so he stuck the knife in the table and began sifting through the room again, even in places the others had already looked. Keeping busy would help the time go by faster while getting some work done, even if at the time it felt all so pointless. He couldn’t keep that feeling out of his stomach, and though it was impossible, he _knew_ the research was here.

_If I was a doctor who had found something out essential to the entire world and didn’t want anyone to find out, where would I hide my research?_

He shook his head. _I have no idea!_

In the file room, Annie stirred. With a huge yawn, her arms stretched up above her head, she sleepily searched the office for something--for Armin, he soon found out. Rubbing one of her eyes, she came over beside him.

“I’ll take watch,” she offered, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I can’t sleep anyway,” Armin said and set his hand over hers. “I know this research is here somewhere. We’re just not looking in the right place.”

“We have all day tomorrow,” Annie reminded him.

But again, Armin shook his head. “You and I both know we can’t afford to stay here very long. It’s too dangerous . . .” He leaned his head against her arm. “Besides . . . I know we can find it. We’re just going about it the wrong way.”

“Sledgehammers?”

Armin chuckled. “No. No sledgehammers. The professor left in a hurry, so he didn’t have time to destroy anything and then fix it up again before he left.”

_A purple binder shouldn’t be so hard to find, though! Maybe that information_ is _false. It had been years, and he was scared, in a rush . . ._

“I’m wide awake now,” Annie said. “I’ll help you look.”

_Or maybe he was mistaken about it being in his office. Maybe it’s somewhere else in this building._

“Where have you looked already?”

_The new life sciences building, maybe he had an office planned for when everything was moved over there. It’s out of the way. No one would expect to look there . . ._

“Armin.”

Armin blinked and looked up at Annie. “That new science building south of here, what if he left it there? In the place his new office was going to be?”

Her lips parted slightly. “I suppose it’s worth a look. We can’t go until morning.”

“Let’s go now,” Armin said, abruptly getting to his feet and waking Jean.

“We don’t even know which office is his,” Annie pointed out.

After a yawn, Jean asked, “What are you two talking about? What’s happening? Did you find it?”

“I’m going to the new sciences building,” Armin said, his hands curling into fists.

Jean got to his feet, now instantly awake. He put up his hands. “Whoa, whoa. First, where did this come from? And second, it’s black as hell outside and too dangerous to go wandering around in an unfinished building with zombies around!”

Annie set her jaw, and still looking at Armin, said, “I’m going with him.”

“ _I’m sorry_ , but just because you two are banging each other does not mean each of you is automatically right, okay? When I have a stupid idea, Marco doesn’t just go along with it without thinking. You saw that earlier today,” Jean said. “So calm your asses, okay, and just breathe, and think about this for a second.”

“We’ve turned this place upside down, Jean,” Armin insisted. “There’s not many places it could be. And who would think to look in the new building? No one had moved in yet. There’s nothing there.”

Jean gave him a dry look. “Well, _you_ would think of it, apparently.”

“We can be quiet, only use light when we’re inside the building,” Annie said.

“Look, I’m making an executive decision: you two are staying here,” Jean said. “I’m not going to lose any of my squadmates just because you two are too excited to hold your shit until morning. So sit the fuck down and go to sleep. I’m keeping watch and if anyone tries to sneak out of here, I’ll knock you out and make you sleep.”

By this time, the others had awoken, Reiner looking the most grumpy about it.

Armin frowned. _He’s right. What’s wrong with me? This isn’t like me. I don’t just lose my mind and jump the first chance I get. But . . . then why do I have this need to go? Why can’t I wait until morning? It’s only a few hours off._

“What’s going on?” Marco asked sleepily. “Are the zombies attacking?”

Jean’s expression softened when he looked back at his husband and said, “No, everything’s fine. Go back to sleep.”

“Not likely,” Reiner grumbled.

Jean sighed heavily and folded his arms. “Armin thinks the information is in the new, unfinished building, even though the paper clearly says the professor left the stuff in his office.”

“The journal didn’t say _this_ office. It was his niece who directed us _here_ ,” Armin said. “The new life sciences building was almost complete when everything started. It’s very likely he could have already been assigned an office space. He didn’t immediately leave, not everyone at this university did. And with such sensitive research, he might have kept it in that building so no one would find out what he was up to.”

“Okay, that’s fine. That could be,” Jean said. “The point is that you’re not going _now_. Wait for morning.”

“Hard to wait when Armin gets excited about something,” Berthold remarked not unkindly.

“We’re going,” Annie said, and those words sounded more like an executive decision than anything Jean had ever said in entire military life.

Jean and Annie stared at each other for a moment, then he said, “Fine. Then it’s going to be you and me.” When Armin opened his mouth to complain, Jean added, “You’re too valuable. You stay here.” And in his eyes, Armin could see he truly meant it. There would be no swaying him, and when Armin looked at Annie, she put up no fight, perhaps pleased Armin would be out of harm’s way.

“I’ll make sure he stays put,” Reiner promised as he handed Annie the flashlight. “You two try not to get yourselves killed.”

“I can’t speak for him,” Annie said, gesturing to Jean, who shook his head but nothing more, perhaps tired of arguing anymore for the night.

Annie pulled Armin down, gave him a quick peck on the lips, and then she and Jean were gone. Armin sat down in a chair, his hands in his hair, knee bouncing up and down in the air.

“Well, I hope they do find it,” Reiner said. “May be a stupid idea, but they’re the best people for the job. And Jean’s right, you’re too valuable, Armin.”

He looked up at the sound of his name. “What?”

Reiner’s eyes filled with concern. “Hey, are you okay, man?”

Armin forced his knee to stop bouncing, but he stared at it as he said, “I don’t know. The feeling I was telling you about . . . This is it. We’re going to find something that will end all of this.”

“Sounds too good to be true,” Berthold said sadly.

“But it doesn’t have to be,” Armin insisted. “It can be real. I believe it’s real. And having it so close . . .” But when he looked up at the three men still in the room besides him, none of them mirrored the hope he felt. Reiner still looked concern, Berthold seemed resigned, and Marco looked too hesitant to have any real stance.

Marco was the only one to move to Armin, kneel down in front of him and hold his arms. “Hey,” he said gently, “I know you don’t want to, but you should really get some sleep. Annie and Jean will be right back, and we’ll wake you as soon as they do.”

Armin looked away and hunched his shoulders over. “I’m sorry. I may be wrong, I probably am. I shouldn’t just leap without looking, but . . .” But words failed him, so he just gave up speaking. He didn’t know the words, he just knew the feeling in his gut. This was the turning point. And he was so desperate for it. And he understood why the others weren’t so optimistic; in most scenarios he was exactly like them. But today was different. The future was a real tangible thing that they could find, could protect. All he had ever wanted was a good future, why he had wanted to help rebuild rather than be a merc originally.

_Sasha and Connie, they believe in a divine plan. I don’t, I never have, but this . . . Maybe I was meant to become a merc and find this. To help humanity in the best way I could. To give them their future, to show them what it’s going to be, that they don’t have to be afraid for very much longer . . ._

Eren’s face appeared in the forefront of his mind.

_Eren, would you forgive me then?_

“I know,” Marco said, his eyes glittering. “I wish I could believe it as much as you do.”

Armin’s fingers grabbed a hold of his pants and then he gave Marco a fierce look. “I don’t believe it. I know it. I know that’s impossible, and I know too that it doesn’t make sense for someone like me who lives by the facts, by logic, by verifiable things. But that doesn’t change how I feel. This may be one of the most important days of our lives, and I don’t want to waste a second of it sleeping until I am holding our future in my hands.” He pushed Marco’s hands away and walked to a corner of the office.

No one said anything.

“I’ll take watch. I promise I’m not going anywhere. Please . . .” The fierceness left his voice. “Please, sleep while you can. Don’t worry about me.”

-

Only when the sun had risen did Armin truly begin to worry about Jean and Annie. Before, he had been so certain they would be fine. Even in the dark, they were two of the best, and he was sure there was still a low number of zombies in the area. But after nearly five hours without their return, he was starting to consider breaking his promise and going out to find them.

Of course, he was only _starting to consider_ and knew he wouldn’t actually go through with it. Whatever the case, the remaining squad members all had to come to a consensus of what should be done. So far, no one had made any comment about it. Reiner and Berthold were playing cards and Marco was half-heartedly searching through areas of the office that had been thoroughly gutted.

At 6:20, Armin could no longer stay quiet. He pushed away from the wall. Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing, their eyes on him. Only Reiner spoke: “What is it?”

It was obvious, but Armin said it anyway. “They’re not back yet. It’s light out; maybe we should check on them.”

“They did have one flashlight and a whole building to search,” Berthold pointed out.

Reiner waved a hand in the air. “Give it time. If they were zombies, we would know.”

Marco shut a drawer a little too loudly, and in a fierce voice, said, “I’m with Armin. I’m worried.”

Reiner grunted, but said nothing until he slapped his cards down and jutted a finger at his beau. “Full house, kings and aces.”

Berthold’s face made no change. He looked at his cards a long moment and then tenderly set them on the desk. “Straight flush.” When Reiner’s jaw dropped, Berthold smiled and said, “I agree with Marco and Armin. We should see what’s going on.”

Just then, the door opened. No one moved, just stared in awe and shock as sleep-deprived and grumpy--more than normal, that is--Jean and Annie entered the office, hands empty. Still, no one did anything, and then Jean took in the scene and said, “Some mercs you are! We could have been zombies!” He bumped the hilt of his machete on Berthold’s head.

“Zombies don’t open doors like that,” Reiner pointed out, the shock wearing off his face first. He put his hands behind his head and leaned back. “How did it go?”

Jean and Annie shot each other cross looks.

Neither of them had a purple binder and Armin’s heart fell. “You didn’t find it?”

“What?” Jean asked almost in offense as he turned his attention to Armin. Rolling his eyes, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny jump drive. “Tucked inside an ugly _lavender_ binder, mind you. It was in the last place we looked, can you fucking believe it?” He tossed it over to Armin and then went to hug Marco.

Without Jean’s presence, a smile found its way to Annie’s mouth. “You were right, Armin.”

_I almost can’t believe it . . . It was such a stretch . . ._

“Great! Can we get out of this place now?” Reiner asked. “Find a bar in the fake-safe zone outside good, ol’ SLC?”

Armin looked at the USB in his hands, then curled his fingers over it tightly. He beamed at the others, especially Annie. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.”

Annie lifted a hand and Armin came closer to take it. Their fingers interlocked and he kissed the top of her head. “I’m glad you made it back okay,” he whispered.

“Did you think I wouldn’t? Who do you think I am?” Annie snorted, and Armin laughed.

“Wait!” Marco said, and everyone looked at him. He put his hands up almost defensively. “Well, I was just wondering if we should test it, make sure it’s really the right thing.”

Everyone groaned, and Jean cupped Marco’s cheek. “And get executed by the military?” he asked in a soft voice. “Not a chance. If we gotta come back, we come back.” He turned to the others and rested his machete back on his shoulder. “Right?”

“Pays the bills, yeah?” Reiner agreed.

Jean grinned. “Then let’s get the hell out of here. Annie and I saw a big horde of brain-biters headed this way after our shouting match, so shall we?”

“Well, shit, Kirschtein, maybe _start_ with that next time?” Reiner complained.

They gathered up their stuff messily and hastily. As they left the Widtsoe Building, Armin could see the aforementioned horde heading their way from the north. They threw their equipment hastily into the truck, Jean shouted, “Babe, maybe you better snipe the bastards this time!” and they screeched out onto the street.

With Marco’s help and Annie and Jean’s aggressive driving of the Jeep and truck, the squad managed to get out of there without much trouble. They headed for the town called Bountiful just outside of Salt Lake City’s walls, which was also the same place the original Kirschtein Squad had visited back in summer of 2025. Towns next to the absolute safe zones were always better than any others, since they were so easily provided with goods and supplies.

They stopped at a sleazy motel on the outskirts of the town. While Reiner and Berthold went to grab some food and drinks for them all, Annie and Marco volunteered to connect with the military about the probable success of their mission. Armin plopped himself down in the back of the truck, mind stuck on the USB. He had given it to Annie in case the military wanted to take it here. It was safe in her hands; there were none safer, honestly. But he still wished it was close to him, that he could plug it into a computer and see what secrets it held.

Jean stayed with Armin to watch the vehicles. “Mind if I join you?” he asked.

Armin shook his head lightly.

Noisily, Jane clambered in beside him, sitting atop a crate of ammunition. “I like it when important missions are easy, you know? Searching through that place in the dark was tedious as hell, but worth it.”

“So you two got in a shouting match?” Armin prompted.

Jean’s nose crinkled. “Yeah. She had some things to say. And she was right. I mean, it was all going smoothly until the end there, right before sunrise. We had some rough patches, but nothing like that. I think it was a long time coming, honestly.” He leaned over, eyes sparkling. “I mean, when do Annie and I ever do things together, just us two? Not my first choice, honestly.”

Armin gave a faint smile. “I know she’s not yours either.”

“We may not like each other personally, but I trust her. And I respect her. Hell, I don’t know how anyone _couldn’t_ respect her. She’s amazing.” Jean looked straight ahead again. The sparkle left his eyes and his tone got serious, but gentle. “I’m real glad you found someone again, Armin. I may not have been there to see how you were when you were with Eren, but . . . I’d like to think it was how you are with Annie.” He swished a finger in circular motions around his eye. “It’s all in your eyes.”

He rarely saw his reflection anymore, so he had not even the faintest idea what his eyes looked like. But it sounded nice, what Jean said. And he was right. Of course he was right. Even if he hadn’t been there when Eren was, Jean had known Armin for years. They knew each other well enough to be family.

“It’s different and the same,” Armin sighed. “But good.” _The greatest._

Jean gave a lopsided smile. “Good.”

Armin watched a trio of kids playing hopscotch across the street, in front of an old fire station. At first he smiled, but the more the watched them, the sadder he became, until he lowered his eyes and stared at the tailgate. “I’m so stuck on that USB, what’s on it. It’s changed things, or I think it has. I’m . . . reevaluating my plans for the future.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

Armin said nothing. The happy cries of the children carried over to him with the start of a breeze.

“Look,” Jean said, putting a foot up against the tailgate, shaking Armin’s gaze from it. “Marco told me what you said while me and Annie were off on that, I don’t know, expedition.”

Armin stared at elbow of Jean’s jacket instead, the one he had sewed up years ago when the two of them had first met. It had been awhile since Jean had worn that particular jacket, or at least it was the first time Armin was really noticing. 

Jean sliced through his thoughts: “You’re wrong, you know.”

Armin looked up in surprise, and Jean was looking at him.

“You definitely don’t live by facts and logic and ‘verifiable things.’” He smirked. “It looks like that when someone doesn’t know you too well, but you follow your heart and your gut as much as the next guy, just as much as Marco and me. But you’re smart, real smart. Smarter than most people I know--hell, more than everybody I know. That’s why I’m so glad I’m with you. If anyone else had insisted I go out to that building in the middle of the night to find something that could have been anywhere, I wouldn’t have given in, ever.”

There was a small pause, perhaps as Jean was trying to organize his thoughts. He continued again abruptly: “And despite what I said, I know Annie doesn’t trust you blindly. Neither do I. When I looked in her eyes that night, I was reminded of that. I trust you with my life, Armin. I trust you with Marco’s life. Now here we are, on the way back home, some research in our hands that may change the course of the future because of you.” 

He looked away, still smiling. “Get excited about the things you want to get excited about. None of us will think you’re crazy or overly optimistic. Hell, your optimism is better than anyone else’s.”

Armin’s eyes were hot, tears brimming at the edges. When he looked away from Jean, they fell, and he let them.

“If I ever make you feel crazy or . . .” Jean said. “. . . I don’t know, anything _bad_ , you let me know. You stop me, okay? Because you’re my brother and I love you.”

Armin smiled.

“This shithole mess we’re in isn’t so bad with you around,” he added. “And that’s all I’m going to say, okay? Before I turn into a blubbering idiot.” He looked back at Armin, noticed his tears and smile, and then laughed. “Aw shit, there’s no avoiding it, is there?” He laughed again, once, and his eyes also glistened with tears.

In the distance, Annie and Marco appeared. The enamored men watched them approach, and when they were close enough, Armin and Jean leaped out of the truck to meet them. Jean and Marco put their arms around each other’s shoulders and waist, and Armin and Annie held hands--after Armin had kissed Annie’s knuckles, of course.

“They want us back at Sioux Falls,” Annie explained. “So as soon as Reiner and Berthold are back, we fill up and get out of here.”

Jean cast the mountains a melancholy glance. “Till next time, you beautiful mountains.”

“I’ll drive the truck,” Armin offered.

“And I assume Annie will ride shotgun?” Marco guessed kindly.

Annie smirked. “You bet Armin’s fine ass, I will.”

Jean shook his head and the rest of them laughed.

-

December 29, 2027

THREE PLUS THREE

 

“This moonshine fucking sucks,” Annie said after her first sip. Her whole face screwed up and then expanded, eyes wide, mouth gaping. She followed it with a steady stream of air and then tossed the rest of the alcohol over the side of the truck into the dirt. Slowly, she settled back onto the blankets, letting her head rest against the mass they'd piled on one end to serve as makeshift pillows.

Armin gave up on his too and lay down beside her. Their hair, wild and free, tangled together, blond on blonde, the hairs indistinguishable from one another. The sky was so clear that night, clearer than it had been in several months. Annie lifted a hand into the air, not to point to a star or the moon, but just to have her hand in the air, fingers relaxed, wrist moving in a circular motion. Armin reached up and entwined his fingers with hers and their hands floated up there.

“I wonder if I could try my hand at making booze,” Armin said with a smile. “I've already become a smith, a mercenary, and a tailor. What do you think?”

“You can't make booze you can't handle,” Annie said. She brought their hands down and smooshed it between their bodies. She lay on her side so she could properly look at him. “If you had had one more sip of Reiner's moonshine you'd probably be wasted.”

“I've never had the best alcohol tolerance,” Armin murmured in agreement. His thumb ran up and down her forefinger, rubbing into her knuckle for a few seconds every time he passed it. Annie had nice fingers. They were short and thin, and very adept, perfect for getting into things. He brought them over to his lips so he could kiss her fingertips. She managed to sneak in a boop on the nose and he laughed.

Annie returned to resting on her back, slipping her hands free and setting them on her stomach. “When do you think the others will get back?”

“I don't know,” Armin said with a yawn.

“You're not tired, are you?”

“Not too tired.” Armin glanced at her. “Are you? I'll keep watch if you want to sleep.”

She gave a low laugh to herself. “Huh. I do want to sleep.”

Armin was about to say something, but they were interrupted. Both of them heard the noise at the same time, that careless swish of leaves. They flipped onto their stomachs and then slowly raised their eyes over the rim of the truck. The moaning started, the empty kind, seeking out new flesh to chew, to turn. The undead had found them. At the moment, they remained oblivious to the two humans in the truck bed. Sure, they smelled them, but their sense of smell wasn't the most acute. To them, the humans could be anywhere within a ten-meter radius.

As quietly as possible, Armin moved up towards the cabin window. It was dark enough they didn't see him raise above the truck side. Half of his torso slipped through the open window, and he reached for the guns on the bench seat. He took one and handed it to Annie, who immediately snapped the safety off. When he pulled his out, he accidentally clipped the side of the window, and all the zombies turned in their direction. He dropped down, hissing a curse to himself.

“There's three of them,” Annie whispered. “You shoot, I'll slice.” She crawled towards the end of the bed, the blankets muffling the sound of her movement. The truck was parked at such an angle the visitors didn't see her slide down onto the ground. She rounded the truck, heading towards the hood, closer to the trio, gun in one hand, the knife Armin had traded her in the other.

Armin peeked up over the side. The zombies were closer now, heads more energized as they looked around, seeking their target. Easy shots. Armin turned the safety off, took three steady breaths, and then raised his gun over the side. In quick succession, he planted a bullet in each of their heads. Their cries echoed through the forest for less than a second—Annie's blade cut them off as she ripped through their vocal chords. Once she gashed their throats, diseased blood dripping everywhere, she lopped their heads off and then kicked their corpses onto the ground. 

She moved her head in a circle until her neck popped and then looked over at Armin, who sighed and gazed at her dreamily.

Annie smiled, tossed her gun onto the seat again, and then hopped up into the bed again, using the tire as a step stool. As she lay down, Armin leaned over her, a hand on either side of her head. She looked up at him with icy blue eyes the tiniest glint of something in them. “So you going to do this or not, huh, tough guy?” Her fingers came up and grasped his collar. “I don't have all night.”

“I’m still thinking about how you just killed three undead easier than making fried eggs,” Armin said, feeling unusually light and corny. He’d seen her kill zombies more times than he could count, and though he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol, he felt as relaxed and feathery as if he had. The past few months of mercenary work had been the simplest of his entire career. He wondered if it was because they’d finally reached a point where they could work without thinking, like their subconscious just took control, or if it was because of how well things were for everyone personally, especially between him and Annie.

“Armin,” Annie snorted, “frying eggs is difficult for you.”

Armin smiled. “But not for you. You don't even need a frying pan. You scare the eggs into frying themselves.”

Annie shook her head. “You're such a fucking moron.”

He leaned down and kissed her. “I did run over your toes when we first met.”

“Yeah, you never paid me back for that,” she breathed, her warm breath caressing his face.

“I can do it now if you like?” He pressed his cheek against hers.

“Mm, I might like that, yeah,” she murmured into his ear. Those fingers he loved so much wound their way into his hair and then their lips connected.

No matter how many times Armin made love to Annie, he would never tire of the lines of her hips, or the taste of her skin, or how beautiful she was in the afterglow when she had the most gentle face of any other time. Her lips always chapped, but Armin loved kissing them anyway, his kisses gentle and chaste. And she always lifted a hand to tuck his hair behind his ears, the touch of her fingertips sending good goosebumps all over his arms. Of course she knew, because she would then always run her fingers along his arms and giggle about it.

As she caressed his arms now, her eyes glowing more brilliantly than the stars, Armin asked, “Are we even now?”

“Hmm,” she hummed with an amused tone.

“Hmm?” he repeated, a laugh in his eyes. 

She booped his nose. “Yes.”

Voices came from the woods and Armin threw the blankets over their bodies, trapping them in there. Annie moved her face to the crook of his neck, and they lay there together.

“Hey guys did you miss—ohhh.” Marco.

“What?” Jean asked in irritation, probably tired. Then came, “Oh, I see. Okay.”

Reiner chuckled in satisfaction. “In the back of the truck, huh?”

“Fuck off,” Annie said.

“I think there's been enough of that already,” Reiner said and Jean groaned. “Hey, you have no room to talk, Kirschtein. I have heard you and your husband fuck many times. You ever hear me complain?”

Jean sounded like he'd just found out his mother was his sister. “Wait, you hear us? And you’re only telling me _now_?”

Reiner laughed so loud Berthold had to tell him to shut up or the zombies would hear. “Everyone hears you, Jean. Everyone. You are one loud motherfucker. Really, I had once thought that Marco would be the noisy one, but nope, it's you.”

“Okay, we are _not_ talking about this.” Jean’s light footfalls traveled around the truck to the driver’s door, and he opened it, tossing his gun onto the seat. The door slammed. “But no, while we're on the subject, you and Berthold can be really inappropriate, too! 

“We could make an interesting foursome,” Reiner said offhand.

“Oh, _fuck_ no. You keep your ugly dick away from me. The only dick I will ever allow near me is Marco's.”

“ _Jean_ ,” came Marco's flustered voice.

There was a silence, maybe Jean looking at them all, and then the next thing made both Annie and Armin open their eyes and smile at each other. “Don't tell me you would actually have a foursome with those—oh my God. What has my life become? I was better before the last five minutes.”

“We're pretty vanilla, Jean, I don't know, maybe they could show us some interesting--”

“Fucking hell. I need to get some sleep. Normal sleep. Resting sleep.” In a quieter voice, he said to Marco, “If you want to try some new things, I'm sure we can figure it out without _those_ guys' help. You’ve never mentioned anything before . . .”

“Well, I didn't think about it until Reiner mentioned it,” Marco said.

“Will you fuckers talk about your gross sex lives somewhere else? I'm trying to cuddle,” Annie complained.

The four of them moved off, and then Armin stopped thinking about them, instead focusing on Annie and her warmth, and how his sweat was growing cold as the minutes ticked by. He pulled the blankets tighter so they soaked it up. It was incredibly hot under there, but at the moment, he didn't care.

“What if zombies show up and they're all off banging each other?” Annie said. “We may have to fight them naked.”

Armin laughed. “That’d be a first.” He nuzzled her. “Didn’t you say you wanted to get some sleep earlier?”

“Well, I meant something else,” Annie said, and closed her eyes, “but now I do want to sleep.”

“I’ll wake you up if the zombies come,” Armin promised.

She just squeaked an acknowledgement and was asleep moments later. Armin kissed her forehead and then reached over for his clothes, reaching into his deepest pants’ pocket. He pulled out a little golden ring and stared at it in the moonlight that permeated the thin, old blanket.

_I’ll ask her soon. It’s the right time. I know it._

-

March 1, 2028

THREE PLUS THREE

 

No one was on a mission today. The military had recalled all merc squads just after the first, working, national broadcast system since the whole thing had started. The bar Kirschtein Squad had chosen was crowded, but filled with a few familiar faces: Ymir and her girl, whose name was Krista, Armin found out. Sasha and Connie were there, too--though at a different table--and waved a Book of Mormon happily in Armin’s face. All the mercs got a round of drinks on the house, which Reiner and Berthold collected for their pushed-together tables of eight. They had the best seats in the house, right under a television screen the owner was smacking, trying to get it to work.

Some high-up was going to make an announcement at five o’clock, one that everyone was required to listen to if they were able. That was about forty-five minutes off, but everyone had gathered early to relax and socialize.

“So, it’s just you two and that works okay?” Jean asked Krista and Ymir.

Ymir, her arm slung over Krista’s shoulders, gave Jean a sly smile. “It’s not about numbers. It’s about competency.”

Jean’s mouth twisted into a frown. “Right.”

“Though,” Krista piped up with a look at Ymir, “having some more squad mates would be helpful. Having six of you must be nice.”

“Most of the time,” Annie said and immediately took a long swig of her beer. Jean glared at her, and when she was finished drinking, she wiped her mouth and said, “Did I even say your name, Horse-face?”

Armin chuckled nervously. “Well, whatever the case, I’m glad to have seen you again,” he told Ymir. “And properly meet.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised you even remembered me,” Ymir said. “Took some serious jogging to remember you.”

“Ha, right . . .”

Annie whipped out her rose knife and stuck it in the table, much to the shock of the people at the table, even Ymir. “You should commission a weapon from him. He’s a damn fine smith. This blade is infused with rose. Pretty toxic against those motherfuckers.”

A glint appeared in Ymir’s eyes that Armin couldn’t put a name to. “Is that so, Arlert?”

“No matter how ‘competent’ you are, it might give you an extra edge,” Annie said. Her thumb ran up and down the hilt. “‘The joys of love made her human, and the agonies of love destroyed her.’”

Ymir frowned. “What’s that now?”

Armin’s jaw dropped. “Wait, you figured it out?”

Annie smiled, trying to hide a smile and failing. “I might’ve.” She pulled the knife out of the table and stuck it back in its home at her leg.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Armin asked.

“I wanted to surprise you.” She elbowed him and then leaned her head on his shoulder. “Interesting quote choice. You’re not trying to tell me something, are you?”

Armin laughed softly. “No. No, I just . . . It’s from an episode of _Star Trek_ I really liked when I was young.”

“What he’s trying to say,” Jean said, slapping his beer down, “is that he chose a _nerdy_ quote, because he is the biggest nerd of us all.”

Reiner stroked his chin. “Wait, so you’re saying _we’re_ all nerds?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“That doesn’t exclude you, right?” Ymir asked.

While they chatted away, Annie caught Armin’s attention again and said quietly so only he could hear, “I really do like it. Thanks.” Her cheeks turned pink. “You won’t stop teaching me Japanese, right? I’m really liking it.”

Armin nuzzled her hair. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Their attention was drawn away by Reiner, who had gotten to his feet and was smacking a plastic knife in vain against his beer bottle. “All right, all right, it’s toast time. I’ll do the first one.” Everyone lifted their drinks and Reiner cleared his throat. “I’ve known you all for different amounts of time, Kirschtein Squad, but I consider you all my family. So you fuckers better not die before this shit is over. And though I just met Ymir and Krista--” He nodded to them. “--they seem to understand the feeling. So I’d like to toast to family: the people at this table.”

They clinked bottles and drank--Reiner nearly half of his bottle in one go which had Marco spitting out his beer before he could swallow.

Finally, the owner of the bar got the television working, as the screen showed the usual eagle symbol that displayed when there was no current broadcast. Armin and the others had seen it over the years, but only on a small scale as it took too many resources at the time to have a television everywhere. But this upcoming broadcast was apparently important enough, and Armin had a feeling similar to the one in Utah: they were going to talk about the USB, or something related to it.

The owner kissed the television and everyone clapped. “I almost feel like I could pop in one of my old _Young Indiana Jones Chronicles_ DVDs!” he declared.

“Hey!” someone called. “You, Mister Owner Guy, since today is apparently so special, why don’t you say we start the old jukebox, huh? Get some music in here!”

Agreeing cheers echoed through the bar, cheers simply no one could deny. If they could only have the music on for an hour or two, that was all they needed. The owner laughed and threw his hands in the air. “Start it up!”

It took some finagling with, but eventually the jukebox roared to life, immediately spouting some old hits from the eighties. The patrons gave a collective cheer again.

Marco shot to his feet, lifting his beer. “To music! May it never die!”

“Here, here!” Reiner roared, and they all clinked glasses again.

Then Berthold stood up, another toast on his lips. “To true days off!”

The squad agreed with that particular toast heartily and then checked to see if anyone else was about to shoot to their feet. It seemed for the moment, though, that everyone was content to wait a bit.

At 4:59, the television made a beeping noise and everyone grew quiet. Someone even immediately unplugged the juke box, pitching them into a silence filled only with the TV’s chattering. At exactly 5:00, the screen changed to a live picture of someone in an old, ragged general’s uniform.

“Is it broadcasting?” he was asking someone.

A patron shouted up to the TV, “Yes, yes, speak man!”

The general cleared his throat and then looked straight into the camera. “I speak to you today, citizens of our once glorious country, those who have survived despite the greatest foe our world has ever seen. It has been a long 14 years, almost to the day, but we have endured, keeping our people and communities together. We have proved our commitment to each other and to not only surviving, but living during this trying time. And it is only in our faith, trust, and strength in each other that we are able to communicate like this today, one nation brought together in this one moment for the first time in over a decade.”

Annie’s hand squeezed Armin’s under the table.

The general paused a moment and then continued. “From the moment this began, we have been searching for a way to bring peace, to end the devastation and horror. It was not until recently that we had any semblance of hope. But now we hold the book in our hands, though unfinished as it may be. Nearly eight months ago, we received a USB of information from a brilliant doctor of biology who taught at Brigham Young University. He was researching the disease that swept up more than half our world’s population, and though he was unable to finish his research, what he did discover has given us a sureness in our future.

“Even now, our scientists and scientists from around the world are working together to complete Doctor Lang’s research, and though it may be years off, we have been assured that the cure will be found, that those infected will be freed from their afflictions, and that no one else will succumb to the fate they have seen their fellow countrymen succumb to over these long years.”

A shadow appeared in the general’s eyes. “Along with Doctor Lang’s research, we have also discovered the cause to this disaster. There were many who wished to keep this information quiet, but more that know every single human living on this planet deserves to know the truth of what we have found.

“This disease was not an accident, and it was not divine intervention. It was artificially created by the hands of our own species, in full knowledge of its effects. The organized release of this virus in seventeen countries around the world was planned by a syndicate of those who believed in the cleansing of Earth, that the planet and all of its other creatures may be saved. Few of these people survived, as they were the first to fall to their own weapon. Those that survive, if found, will pay the price for this war they declared against every one of their brothers and sisters, but let us not focus on them in the coming years.

“I have only one request to all of you: survive. Keep surviving, hold on for as long as you can. The end of this war and the dawn of a new and bright future is just on the horizon. Every one of you now could once again live in a world free of this affliction. I know it is difficult to ask that of you, as surviving this long has been no easy feat. But it is the most important, it is vital.”

The general lifted his chin. “Survive. Bring humanity out of this darkness and back into the light.”

The broadcast ended abruptly, pitching the bar into silence. Everyone was still staring at the television screen. Only after the owner turned the screen off for good did people finally start moving again. But it was still quiet, the volume never rising above an unsettled murmur.

Everyone at Armin’s table looked between each other, trying to find some kind of answers.

Jean was the first to speak: “A few years off . . .?”

Even Reiner was lost for words or humor. Berthold put his hand on his shoulder for comfort.

“Shit,” Ymir said.

_I was right. The future . . . We’ll have one. All of us here. Me . . . Annie._

_Eren, Mikasa, are you alive? Did you watch? Do you know?_

Annie scooted her chair back and stood up, drawing the table’s attention. She stared at the wooden lines in the table, her forehead crinkled like she was in pain. Her drink remained on the table, so she must not have been planning a toast. Everyone leaned in, breathless with anticipation.

But then she turned intense eyes onto Armin. “Armin.”

“Y-yes?” he asked, looking up at her in concern.

“Marry me.”

Armin’s eyes widened, and the ring in his pants’ pocket, the one he had made himself in October without Annie knowing, burned against his skin.

Her gaze faltered but a moment, when she said, “Please.”

“Just . . . Just one second,” Armin stammered as he reached into his pocket. Her eyes watched it with both confusion and a little fear. But then he pulled out the ring and showed it to her, showed it so the whole table could see. “I . . .” Words failed and he just stared at the ring.

“ _Shit_ ,” Ymir said again.

Annie gently brushed her finger over the ring and sat down. Then as she was pulling away, Armin caught one of her fingers, gently tugged her back, and slipped the ring over her left ring finger. He smiled to himself, smiled at his work, and then he looked up at Annie.

“Well?” Jean prompted.

“Oh!” Armin said a little too loudly. “Oh, yes. Yes, yes I’ll marry you.” He laughed. “Yeah, I’ll marry you. Yes!” He laughed some more, drawing the gazes of the other patrons in the bar. The fear left Annie’s eyes and she pulled him towards her in a tight embrace.

“Fuck, I’m going to cry,” Jean said, wrapping arn arm around Marco.

Armin shut his eyes tightly and breathed in Annie, everything about her. She was trembling a little in his arms at the start of the embrace, but as the seconds passed, she grew more and more still until she was just as steady and firm as Armin. When they finally pulled away from each other, Annie moved some hair out of Armin’s face, behind an ear, and then laughed.

This time, Ymir dramatically scooted her chair back and stood up, the last of her beer in her hand. “All right, listen up all you in this shitty, little bar.” She gave the place a sweep to make sure they truly were looking at her. “Humans suck but humans are also awesome. So I want to toast not just to us, for surviving long enough to watch TV again, as boring as it was compared to what we’ve all seen in the past, but to these two people right here who just got engaged. All of us are awesome as shit, not only for making it here, but just because we _are_. Who needs a goddamned reason?

“I don’t know if they actually will find a cure to this fuckery, but they believe they will, so I’m gonna believe it, too. And if we all use the magic of faith and hope and probably friendship, we can make that cure a reality. So, what the general said: survive. If I catch any of you not trying your damnedest to do that, I’ll kick your ass.

“So let’s toast to three things: to these two lovey-dovey dorks next to me, to a future cure, and to _us_ , for making it this far!”

Reiner was the first to drink, and after he had, he smashed his beer bottle on the floor next to him. Ymir grinned and did the same. Suddenly, everyone was smashing their bottles on the ground and cheering.

Armin and Annie glanced at each other, smiled, and did the same.

“And someone get that goddamned jukebox up and running again!” Ymir commanded right before she sat down. The music started a moment later and she lifted her hands in the air as if to say, “Who’s actually the most awesome here?”

Jean chuckled to himself. “Well, I think I can safely say that this is the best day I’ve had in fourteen years. No matter what happens.”

_No matter what happens._


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco likes cats, Jean's a good speller, Annie knows some musical stuff, Mikasa is a superhero, and Armin and Eren visit the Grand Canyon.
> 
> And then we shoot to 2031, the beginning of the end.

January 10, 2010

BEFORE

It had been an ordinary day. There’d been a little more teasing than usual, but Marco was trying his best not to let it get him down. The weekend was here and he would have two and a half days to himself away from all the snide remarks and pointing fingers. His moms had gone through similar bullying when they’d been in school, and knowing that with seeing how happy they were _now_ , well that made it so much easier for him. He would always have his moms.

He was excited to see them again, to make homemade popcorn and watch whatever movie they had picked up from the rental store that day.

_Fridays are the best._

On his way home, just as he was passing the corner coffee shack a few blocks from his house, Marco heard the meow of a cat. He skidded to a stop and listened for it again, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. His parents had always taught him kindness and empathy above all else, and that’s how he’d gotten through most of his days. He wanted to help people, wanted them to see there could be so much love in the world, because it honestly hurt him to know there was so much pain everywhere. And if he could do something, he would, no matter how small.

_Meow again. Are you hurt? Are you okay? Please meow again._

As if their minds were linked, the cat meowed again and Marco ran to behind the shack, to a pile of old cardboard boxes climbing out of the dumpster. He heaved himself up so he could get a closer look, and at the sound, the cat meowed again, down below. 

Marco moved away some boxes till he could look down to the bottom of the dumpster. The cat’s eyes glinted up at him. “Aww, hey. You must have thought it was too full to fall in, didn’t you? Are you hungry? Cold? It’s really cold out.”

The cat just meowed again.

“Just one second!” Marco said and hopped down. He began moving boxes out of the dumpster, tossing them carelessly onto the snowy grass. When he had moved enough away, he hopped into the dumpster beside the cat, which flattened itself against the side and hissed.

Marco put his hands up and shrunk back. “Hey, now, I’m just trying to help,” he said in a soft voice. He held up a finger and then took his jacket off. “Looks like you hurt your leg. I’ll have to carry you out. Please don’t bite me.”

The cat shrunk back again, but it had nowhere to go. Marco wrapped his jacket around the mangy critter and then picked it up, holding it close to his chest. “Moms are gonna be a little annoyed, but they couldn’t say no to helping a stranger in need, right? You want to meet my parents?”

The cat just closed its eyes and Marco frowned. “It’s okay. It’s just a few blocks away. Hang in there!”

As soon as he was free from the dumpster, he ran to his house. He flew through the front door, not bothering to close it or take his shoes off, and went to the kitchen where both of his moms were holding coffee mugs and chatting. They both looked over at the same time, and his stepmom Adriana looked at him in confusion while his birth mom Eliza just looked overjoyed.

“Hey, honey!” Eliza greeted, waving a hand in the air.

Adriana tiptoed closer to get a better look at the cat. When she realized what it was, she sighed and gave Marco a tired, but loving look. “You just had to, didn’t you?”

Eliza came over too, ruffling his hair. “Aw, poor thing. It’s freezing outside.”

“Is it still breathing?” Adrian asked, moving part of the jacket away to get a better look at the cat.

For a split second, Marco’s heart died, but when the cat opened its eyes and glared grumpily at the two women, he instead laughed. “He’ll be fine. We can let him stay for a few days, right Moms?”

Ellie ran her hand through her thick, black hair and looked down at her wife with a huge smile and a question in her eyes. Adriana glanced up at her and then shook her head with a equally-as-joyful smile. “Of course, we can. Who are we to turn away someone in need?”

“And if he’s up for it--” Eliza pranced to the counter to swipe a DVD off and shake it in the air. “--he can watch _Kung Fu Panda_!” she said in a dramatic announcer voice. She finished by downing the rest of her coffee and slapping both the mug and DVD on the counter. “Ah! I forgot we put whisky in that!” she said weakly.

“You forgot, huh?” Adriana said in amusement as she straightened up.

Marco laughed. “Maybe Momma should help me with the cat.”

“Hey, I’m not drunk yet!” Eliza complained. “Not even close.”

Adriana put an arm around Marco’s shoulders. “Then you can watch. If I remember, I’m the veterinarian here.”

Eliza waved a hand in the air. “All right, all right. I’ll _watch_.” She came over to them, putting a hand on each other arms, and then pecked Adriana on the lips. “And if the cat tries to kill any of us, that’s what I’ll be there for. _Smackdown_!” She threw her hands up in the air. “Ahh, why did I ever retire, again?”

“You ask that every time you drink, hon,” Adriana said.

Marco beamed at them. “Me!”

“Aha!” Eliza said and ruffled his hair again. “That’s right! Best choice I ever made!”

The cat gave a disgruntled meow and Eliza moved back with a nervous giggle. “Oh, that cat really might just murder me.”

“I’ll protect you, Mom,” Marco promised. “But I’m sure he’ll warm up to you once he knows how awesome you are. And how delicious your popcorn is!”

Eliza put a fist in the air. “Yeah!”

Adriana sighed. “No one’s feeding the cat grains. Let’s get to the bathroom before this cat really does murder us, shall we?”

Eliza looped her arm in her wife’s. “Right, right, right.”

The three of them traveled to the master bathroom where Marco set the cat, still wrapped in his jacket, carefully on the sink. He moved the sleeves away so the cat was no longer a burrito and then moved to the side so Adriana could take a look. He knelt on the toilet so he could still be close and see just exactly what Adriana was going to do.

“Just a sprain,” Adriana said after a few moments. “But _she_ is also malnourished.”

Eliza leaned over. “No tag, either.”

“Can we keep her, Moms?” Marco blurted out. “I’ve never had a pet.”

Both of moms looked over at him with unreadable expression, and Marco lowered his eyes, twiddling his fingers. “It’s just . . . It might be nice to have someone to play with at home since Manny moved.”

Eliza’s lips parted. “Manny moved?”

Marco brought his shoulders in. “Yeah . . . A week ago.”

“I thought they were going on vacation,” Adriana said, her attention diverted away from the cat, who was just snuggling up to the jacket to fall asleep.

Marco shook his head. “I was afraid to tell you.”

Eliza knelt down and took Marco’s fidgeting fingers in her hands. “Honey, you don’t have to be afraid to tell us anything. I’m so sorry he moved away.” She glanced up at Adriana, then continued to Marco, “I’m sure there’s some new friends at school you just haven’t met yet.”

“No,” Marco said firmly. _Not there._

Adriana too knelt down, putting a hand on Marco’s shoulder. “We should put up posters for the cat, and if no one claims her, then of course we can keep her. I think that’s a great idea.”

Tears brimmed in Marco’s eyes and he shook his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you! I won’t be afraid ever again, it’s just . . . Now that he’s gone, you’re all I have. What if I don’t find any more friends? Everyone at school hates me because they think I liked Manny!” He started trembling, so Eliza pulled her into his arms. Crying into her shoulder, Marco said, “And I’m scared because they’re right. And if they’re right, then no matter what, everyone will always hate me as long as I live!”

“No, no, honey. We’ll always love you. There will always be people who love you,” Eliza said as Adriana rubbed his back.

Marco’s fingers curled into his mom’s shirt. “I know. But it’s scary, Mom.”

Eliza moved away and put her hands on both sides of Marco’s face, eyes intense. “We’ll be with you every step of the way. You’re going to live in a completely different world than the one me and your mother grew up in. It’s going to be hard, but it’s going to be exciting, and one day, you will find all the right people just for you.” She smiled. “Just like I did. Just like your mother did. Just like Manny’s going to in his new home.”

Marco’s bottom lip trembled. “But why?”

“Why does the world change?” Eliza asked for confirmation. And when Marco nodded, she said, “Honestly, I don’t know why. But it keeps things fun. Would you like soccer so much if every game was the same?”

He thought about it and then wiped some tears from his face. “It’d be boring,” he said glumly.

Eliza’s smile grew. “You play it because it’s always different. And the older you get, the more interesting the games get, too, right? Older players, new strategies. That’s why you love it so much, right?”

Marco nodded again.

“Just like soccer, your life and the world around you is going to keep changing. It’s scary because you don’t know what’s going to happen. You might fall, but then some kind stranger will walk by and help you up, help you for the weekend, get you back on your feet.” Eliza rubbed a knuckle gently over a newly fallen tear on Marco’s face. “The kids at school won’t always be around you. The hurtful comments won’t always be around you.”

Adriana gave her wife a tender look and then said to Marco, “I used to be in a real bad place before I met your mom. Now I’m in love, happy, with a family of my own that loves me too. It was a hard and scary journey getting here, but I’m so thankful for it.”

Marco looked over at the cat, who was now fast asleep, and then looked at his moms. “I . . . I think I understand.”

Eliza moved some hair out of Marco’s eyes. “We’ll do it together, for as long as you need us there with you.”

Marco gave them a determined nod and clenched his fist. “Okay!” The look vanished and his fingers loosened as he blushed in embarrassment.

His moms laughed and pulled him in for a group hug. He shut his eyes tight as he held on to them.

_I love you._

-  
April 9, 2012

BEFORE

Jean’s mom adjusted his bow-tie and then ran her thumb over his cheek. “Jean-bo, no matter what happens out there today, know your mom loves you very much and couldn’t be more proud.” Her eyes sparkled in that way that no one could dispute. And those sparkles gave Jean all the confidence in the world if he couldn’t find it himself.

Taking a deep breath, he mustered his biggest grin. “Right!”

Someone moved behind them, stood in the doorway that led to backstage. Jean swallowed and took his mom’s hand. “Ma . . .” he said in a shaky voice.

“What is it, Jean-bo?” She held his hand with just the right amount of tightness.

But Jean said nothing, instead letting his eyes direct her attention to where it needed to go. And when she had looked over her shoulder, she knew immediately what it was. Her hand remained connected to Jean’s, but she stood up straight, shoulders back, ready to face the oncoming storm the both of them expected.

The figure stepped out from the shadows and turned into a man, his shoulders forward, hands in his jacket pockets. It was the same jacket he’d been wearing the last time Jean saw him two years ago. There was a new patch on it, though, made of a red plaid that looked similar to the kind on Jean’s favorite shirt, the one he had almost outgrown--the one he was wearing now for its last, big day.

“Terrence,” Jean’s mom said evenly, so not as to attract the unwanted attention of the other parents who were waiting with their kids.

“Eleanor,” he said back, and his voice sounded the same if you weren’t really paying attention to it. But Jean was, and it sounded so sad and rough, like maybe he’d taken up smoking again in the years he’d been gone. 

Terrence leaned to the side a bit, his eyes looking for a peek of Jean, who just hid farther behind Eleanor. The man sighed and then took a few steps towards them, focused on his wife again. “You know, I get all your messages.”

“And yet you never reply to them,” Eleanor said, voice colder now. She could be chillier than the worst of winters in Chicago. Jean could have believed she was an Old Norse goddess, and sometimes at night when he was real sad and she came into his room to comfort him, he really did believe it. With her around, nothing was truly scary, and nothing could be terrible. Not even now.

Terrence’s brow furrowed, and it looked like her words had physically pained him. “I don’t know what to say.”

Eleanor took a deep breath. “Saying something is better than nothing at all. I used to think maybe you were dead, and I hated that. Then it got where I really wished you were dead.” Her thumb caressed the side of Jean’s hand, like she always did anytime she had talked to Terrence in the past when things were bad. “It’s easier thinking you’re dead.”

“Why’d you keep sending letters, then?” Terrence asked.

From out in the auditorium, the vice principal’s voice came on the loudspeaker, letting everyone know that the spelling bee would begin in just a few short minutes. Some of the other parents and kids shuffled towards the curtains, ready to be introduced by the vice principal and cheered on by all their fellow students and community members.

Jean wanted to move with them, but he was still attached to his mother, and his father was still there, standing like he was made up of nothing but tired and sad. He tried to tug, to let his mother know where he wanted to go, that the spelling bee was about to start. Her hand twitched, like she knew what he wanted, and yet she stayed where she was. Jean didn’t tug anymore; he trusted her. Everything would be fine.

“For Jean,” Eleanor said. Her head lowered a bit as she looked over her shoulder to the other parents and their kids. “Why did you come today?”

Terrence swallowed and then breathlessly said, “For Jean. It’s taking all my energy to come here, Ella. But I had to. You know I did.”

Eleanor turned around and crouched down again. “Jean-bo,” she breathed gently, eyes sparkling, though not quite as brilliantly as usual. “Do you want to say hello to your father?”

Jean’s voice was so very small when he spoke that he could hardly hear himself. “If I win, will he come back for good?”

His mother’s lips parted in surprise.

“I don’t wanna let him down again,” Jean said.

“Jean . . .” Eleanor put her hand on his cheek again. “If anything, it’s both of us who’ve let you down.”

Jean peeked from behind his mother to the man standing just out of the shadows. “I’ll win,” he said firmly, “and he’ll come back. And we’ll all be together again.”

Eleanor’s lips now smiled. “Okay,” she said quietly.

The vice principal’s voice echoed in the auditorium again, and Jean and his mother moved to where the other children and their parents were. Behind them, Terrence said nothing, but looked on with hope in his eyes. That was something; Jean would hold on to whatever he could, no matter how small. He knew things would never be the same as they were before his father left, at least the good years of then, but what mattered the most was that they were all together.

“Remember,” Eleanor said so only Jean could hear, “as long as I’m here with you, you’ll always be safe. I promise. There’s no reason to be afraid.”

Jean squeezed her hand and took a deep breath. The vice principal announced his name and Jean took firm steps out onto the bright stage to the sound of everyone he knew cheering and clapping.

_I can’t lose, because I won’t lose dad again. I’m going to win._

\--

March 25, 2013  
BEFORE

They had moved the piano into the sunroom for the upcoming warmer weather. Annie liked to play with the sunlight warming her skin, but also she mostly just hated the music room. It was dark and windowless and simply covered in all the trophies her parents had won over the span of their fruitful careers. She didn’t feel the same about playing as they did, but she did enjoy it. Mostly she liked writing her own songs, like the one she had been working on for several weeks to perform for everyone on her birthday. It was today, but in the evening. This was her last chance to practice and perfect it.

Her grandmother’s cat jumped up onto one end of the piano and wrapped its tail around its paws. It had grown used to Annie’s practice schedule, and unlike the other cat in the house who got spooked at every little sound, this one rather enjoyed the sound of the piano. And Annie likewise enjoyed its company. The cat was quiet and intelligent, better than the gossip and garbage conversation her peers usually had--except for Berthold and Reiner.

Annie took her seat on the bench, happy her parents weren’t home. Practicing with them around was embarrassing, though she never knew why. During actual performances, she was so calm and free of anxiety.

With a gentle smile on her face, she set her fingers on the keys. To warm up she would do a sonatina. “Quelle chanson, Maeve?” she asked the cat. She also found it embarrassing to practice French in front of her parents, but had no problem speaking to Maeve. If she said something wrong, the cat didn’t know or frankly care. When she started her first official French class in the fall, then maybe it would be easier, but for now, she was content to just speak her beginning French to the cat.

The cat, Maeve, just gave her a slow blink.

“Clementi?” Annie suggested and then began playing. Her eyes closed and she let her fingers take control.

Music came so easily to her, but there was something melancholy about it. She had no words to really explain _why_. While that may have frustrated her parents, she had no problem with it. If music had to be melancholy, that was fine. She still loved it, and she would hold to it with all she had while she could.

_Something could take it away._

Sometimes she wondered if it was because of her parents, their obsessive nature when it came to music. They had been doing it for so long, competitively, that she felt they had lost their love of it. Now it was just some weird necessity and a pride booster. They spent more time worrying about it than they did living their actual lives. And though it was because of them, their insistence, that Annie started playing herself, their attitudes had never really changed her own about playing.

The sonatina ended and she left one hand on the keys while the other drifted up to her neck, gently brushing the skin there. She smiled, though she had no idea why. In that moment, she just felt extra warm and happy. She looked over at Maeve, who looked half-asleep, and then reached out to gently rub against her neck.

“Do you think they’ll like my song? It’s kind of . . .” She straightened up and puts her hands on the starting keys.

She could hear their voices. _”Why is this so sad? So melancholy? Can’t you write something happy. You love music, don’t you? Write something that makes people happy, not sad._

Her smile turned to a wry one. _You wouldn’t understand it, would you? You always put me at a distance. I always put_ you _at a distance. I suppose it’s no one’s fault, it’s just easier that way._

The first chord played and then her fingers were moving elegantly along the keys. Again, her eyes were closed. She focused on how the keys felt under her soft fingertips, on how the music came from every part of her body, on how the morning sun was warming her and energizing her fingers, though they moved no faster, just with more emotional insistence.

The same soft feeling nipped at her neck, and she was smiling genuinely again. _What is it?_

She loved it, whatever it was. It felt like home. More a home than the one she sat in now. It was close, embracing her, loving her. It wasn’t too open and echoey, too full of chatty people who adored wine more than they did their spouses when they came to her parent’s superficial parties celebrating an achievement in competitive music. Those people lived and breathed music, but it felt wrong, it felt like a farce. The feeling on her neck, the home she wanted so desperately to know, it considered music very little, and yet it understood it better than those people ever would.

Annie’s eyes opened and she watched her fingers move over the keys, sometimes pressing lightly, sometimes not. But all the notes were heavy, like a good dream during good sleep.

As her song came to a close, the feeling on her neck faded away. With a sigh, she played the very last note and then put her hands in her lap.

_I’ll figure it out someday._

Maeve walked across the keys and sat in front of Annie. She gave a tiny meow and closed her eyes. Annie rubbed her neck again.

_No matter how long it takes. I’m waiting._

\--

June 2, 2011

BEFORE

 

They’d saved up money to buy flowers for Mikasa, a bouquet of red roses the same color as her scarf. It had been a few days since they’d seen her, and though everyone told them Mikasa was fine, that she would definitely pull through, they still sat in fear. Carla had finally allowed them to go to the hospital to visit, so Eren and Armin sat out in the hallway, Eren holding the roses, and Armin swinging his legs a mile a minute.

It would have been easier if the accident hadn’t happened not that long before. She’d been lucky that day, and it seemed cruel that she might have been taken away from them only a half a year later. Mikasa had pneumonia, and Armin and Eren knew little of it, but the most important they knew was that it was bad.

Armin wanted to see her so badly, to hear her voice and see her smile, to know that she was going to be perfectly okay. He stared at the floor with wide eyes, counting the seconds in his head. Focusing on the numbers, on the constant numbers, made waiting so much easier. And his swinging legs provided the physical stimulation he needed. If he could, he would have paced up and down the long corridor, but he didn’t want Carla to also worry about _him_ , not when Mikasa was the one who was in bad shape.

At around noon, the nurses and a doctor went into Mikasa’s room. Armin stopped swinging his legs and moved to the very end of the bench, closest to Mikasa’s door, and tried to listen. Of course he heard nothing, and he went back to counting and swinging.

When a nurse finally opened the door, she beckoned them to come in. While Carla spoke quietly with the doctor, Armin and Eren moved to Mikasa’s bedside. She was pale, but her eyes were open and she beamed at them.

Eren showed her the flowers and set them on the table beside her bed. He took one of her hands, and Armin took the other.

“Hey,” Mikasa said gently.

“Hey,” Eren said just as gently, something unusual for him.

Armin just smiled, because words failed him. He was just so happy to see Mikasa.

The door closed, and Carla came over behind Armin and Eren. “The doctor says you’re doing well, Mikasa. You won’t have to be here much longer.”

“Of course she’s doing well!” Eren said. “Mikasa’s invincible. She can get sick all she wants, but she’ll always get better! She’s like a superhero!”

Mikasa laughed a little.

 _It’s true,_ Armin wanted to say.

“Is there anything I can get you, hon?” Carla asked.

But Mikasa shook her head. “Now that you’re all here, I’m fine.”

Armin’s cheeks grew warm, and Eren said, “We’ll be here as long as you want us to!”

Mikasa’s eyes closed as she smiled wider. “Okay.”

Armin held her hand tighter, which prompted her eyes to open again, to look right at him. “Sorry,” he mumbled and loosened his grip. “I’m just glad you’re okay. You really are okay, right?”

She tugged a little on his fingers, and he came forward. She wrapped her arms around him and laughed a little into his hair. “I’m okay, Armin.”

 _But I should be hugging you! Not you hugging me!_ Armin thought frantically. Still, he remained there, breathing in her scent, which had not been fully eradicated by the sterileness, the sick cleanliness, of the hospital. It could never be defeated by anything. Nothing could overtake Mikasa. She truly was invincible in the end. Armin believed it like he believed the Earth rotated around the sun--he _knew_ it.

Eventually, Eren complained he wanted to hug Mikasa too, so Armin moved back and wrapped his arms around himself. Carla ruffled his hair in comfort and Armin leaned into her.

The nurse came back soon after to let them know visiting hours were over.

“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Eren promised.

Mikasa just smiled.

Armin took her hand one last time, but said nothing. He didn’t have to; even after only knowing each other for a few months, they could communicate without speaking. Armin didn’t know quite how that had happened, or the mechanics of how it worked, but in this case, he was okay with not knowing. Instead, he just accepted it and embraced it.

“Bye,” Mikasa said, waving her fingers in the air as they left. The last Armin saw of her that day was her eyes closing as she prepared to take a nap.

Soon after that, she was discharged from the hospital. The three of them sat on her bed and watched television on Carla’s computer they’d moved into there. Eren and Armin rested their heads on her shoulders, and she held both of their hands. Of course, occasionally they’d have to let go so they could eat some more homemade popcorn. Their hands were greasy, but they still held on tight to each other.

“Mikasa?” Armin asked as an episode ended.

“Mmm, Armin?”

He hadn’t had a question. He’d really just wanted to hear her voice.

“Oh, nothing,” he quickly said.

“Next one?” Mikasa asked.

Armin bent his legs, so he was lying in the fetal position. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”

“And it’s the _best_ episode!” Eren declared when they had gone back to the main menu. He enthusiastically hit play on “Requiem for Methuselah.” “Yes! I’ve been waiting five hundred years!”

Mikasa laughed. “I haven’t seen this one yet.”

“It’s really good,” Armin said quietly. “In my top three favorites.”

Mikasa beamed again, much like she had in the hospital when they’d first visited her. “Then I’m sure I’ll love it, too.”

\--

August 11, 2010

BEFORE

Carla hated when they sat down on the edge, their legs over the edge, their arms resting on the bottom bars of the railing. But they were safe, and they were smart, so she let them be while she and Grisha sat on some rocks nearby, talking about whatever adults talk about. Armin sure didn’t know. Besides, he was too busy holding his iced coffee in his hands and gazing out in wonder at the Grand Canyon. Occasionally, he’d let go of his drink to take another massive bite--massive to him, at least--out of his sandwich.

“I can’t believe we’re going to ride donkeys all the way down there,” Eren marveled beside him. His sandwich was long gone, and his iced coffee hardly touched.

Armin was a little wary of riding a donkey on narrow paths down such a deep canyon, but he was so excited to finally be at the bottom that the excitement cancelled out the wariness. And no doubt Eren would be chatting away, keeping Armin’s mind off the eerily close edge. It would be different than sitting where he was now, with a secure metal bar to keep him from going over the edge, even if he put half a mind to it.

“Do ya think if we throw something down we’ll find it when we go down there?” Eren wondered.

“Nah,” Armin said. “It’s too big.”

“I bet we could,” Eren said anyway. He pulled his backpack onto his lap and started ruffling through it, coming up with a couple of short pencils and some crumpled notebook paper. He handed Armin one of each.

Armin set his drink down. “What’s this for?”

“We’re gonna write down wishes and throw ‘em down!” Eren said, grinning. He immediately began scrawling something Armin couldn’t read at all.

Armin looked down at his own piece of paper. _A wish? What do I wish?_ Eren was already folding his paper into uneven sections. “Wha--” Armin blinked. “What’d you write?”

Eren shook his head. “That’s a secret! You can’t tell anybody your wish! Then it won’t come true!”

It was true, they did say that. Armin looked back at his paper in disappointment and then pressed the tip of the pencil into it. _I wish . . . I wish . . ._ He clutched the pencil tightly and accidentally poked a hole through the paper and onto his jeans. “Oops,” he muttered and pulled the pencil out.

“Hey, Armin, you okay?” Eren asked, leaning forward so his head rested against one of the vertical railings. He looked genuinely concerned. “Dunno what to wish for?”

Armin shrugged, embarrassed about it.

But Eren just merely scrunched his face up in thought. “There’s lots of things! Like, wishing that the Card-Cards’ll win the World Series this year. Or wishing that we’ll find some lizards down in the canyon! Or the best one!! Wishing that we’ll meet someone really awesome and cool soon. I wanna be like Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman!”

With a little laugh, Armin said, “Can I be Wonder Woman?”

“Yeah! And I’ll be Superman!” Eren agreed wholeheartedly.

Armin looked back at the paper, his expression softening. “Okay.” The pencil hovered just above pink line. _I wish . . ._ he thought as he also wrote the words, _that I’ll always have good friends by my side._ He folded the paper into fourths and then looked over at Eren, who was just smiling at him.

“Let’s throw them over,” Eren said, scooting out from under the railing and getting to his feet. He offered a hand to Armin to help him up as well. Then his arm angled back. “Are you ready?”

They weren’t going to go too far, because they were paper, but rather than say that, Armin just nodded his head and also angled his arm back. “Ready!”

On Eren’s count of three, they threw--Eren on three, and Armin right after the three. They watched the paper barely go over the edge and then get carried off by a little breeze onto a nearby rock just a few feet below. Eren made a face. “Aww, what was that?!”

Armin sat back down and rested his arms and chin on the lower railing. “You think they’ll come true?”

“Of course,” Eren said, immediately chipper again. He sat down. “I know for a fact!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Eren laughed and then picked up his iced coffee, sticking his lips over the top of the straw but never sucking.

Armin looked out over the canyon, eyes glittering. _Please, whoever’s listening, let him be right._

\--

September 15, 2031

An unnaturally thick fog had settled in over Sioux Falls on the twelfth, and it was still going strong on the fifteenth. The city was quieter with the fog there, like everyone was holding their breath, just waiting for a zombie horde to appear out of nowhere. Armin himself found it comforting though, and he was glad that during one of their rare in-town missions, that he had been gifted with the fog and its silence. It was the fourth day he had to get up early and make his way to the wall for watch. The others’ shifts started later, and only Annie watched the walls like Armin.

He woke up at five, Annie with her arm around him, fast asleep. He hated to disturb her, but she had been up late and would probably fall back asleep soon enough. So he rolled over, making sure her arm was still over him, and he kissed her forehead, then her nose. Her eyes fluttered open, taking a minute to blink away the sleep.

With a yawn, she asked, “Five?”

“Mhm,” Armin hummed and kissed her forehead again. “You sleep well?”

“Mmm,” she hummed back in response and closed her eyes.

Armin moved some hair out of her face and sighed happily. “You gonna join me later?”

Again, she only hummed a response. With a little laugh through his nose, he booped her nose and whispered in her ear. “Go back to sleep.” Then he carefully moved her arm and slipped out of bed. For the brief moment the covers were up, Annie moaned and grumbled, “Cold.” Armin made sure to tuck the blankets securely around her for maximum warmth.

He quickly pulled on some clothes and boots, put his hair in a messy bun, and headed outside. For September, it was pretty cold, and he shivered a little at the stark change from inside to out. Of course, he’d get used to it soon enough. His body had been really good at that for many years. At least he hadn’t shaved in a week, so it helped a little with keeping his face warm.

There was no one outside as he crunched through the half-gravelly streets on his usually path. He took his time about it, not needing to be there until seven-thirty, but he always liked to go for a run and a walk before he made it there. For now he was taking his walk, half a lap around the city--which would be followed by half a lap of running around the city, ending right at his post.

His mind drifted back to that night at the bar, when Annie had asked him to marry her. That had been a good day--a good _week_ , and not just for them. Things had settled down somehow, like even the undead knew they should give humanity a break.

They’d gotten married a few days after, by the same person who had married Jean and Marco. There was little in the way of vows, but they’d said all they needed to the night before. The thought of _that_ night made him smile. If he had a top ten favorite nights list, that would definitely have been in the top three. Of course, he had no idea what the actual order would be. How could he _really_ order something like that?

That was the night he’d learned Annie had played the piano as a child. He’d known her parents had been musicians, that they’d been distant, but he had no idea she’d been musical herself. You couldn’t tell just by looking at her, even by spending months with her. She’d hidden a lot, and Armin was still amazed that he had been honored with her innermost thoughts and feelings, and with things from her past that she apparently hadn’t even told Berthold and Reiner--who also got married a few months after Armin and Annie had, claiming it was for “tax benefits.”

A lock of hair broke free from the bun and Armin blew it out of his face.

Now in 2031, it had been seventeen years since the undead had come to be. Armin was turning twenty-nine soon, and he wondered if he would reach thirty before this all came to an end--if it ever did. He still retained hope from that day at the bar, when they had broadcast to the entire country. He hoped most people did, because without it, humanity surely was doomed.

If they had to, him and his squad, they would hold enough hope for everyone. Once hope was gone entirely, Armin was certain they would never find it again. Once that happened, humanity surely would be doomed.

The falling of Miami last spring had been hard, but at least the other safe zones were still going strong.

Another merc passed by Armin, raising their hand in a greeting. Armin nodded. _They looked familiar. World’s getting smaller every day._

_And yet . . ._

Armin smiled wryly and pushed that thought away.

Partway through the running portion of his morning exercise, a voice got his attention, and this one he recognized, so he steered himself over to it. Ymir and Krista were smoking over by an old gas station, and Ymir was complaining about the fog. When she saw Armin, she lifted an arm in greeting and then took a long drag of her cigarette. When Armin was close enough, Ymir offered it to him.

Armin shrugged and took it gently between his fingers. “Thanks.”

“This goddamned fog, though, right?” Ymir said, gesturing with an arm.

Armin let the smoke fill up his lungs, warming him right up, and then he let it out in a long, steady stream. He handed the cigarette back before answering. “I like it.”

The corner of Ymir’s mouth lifted and she put the cigarette in her. “Of course you would.”

“I like it, too,” Krista said. “It’s quiet.”

“Too fucking quiet,” Ymir muttered to herself.

Armin put the loose strand of hair behind his ear. “I’ll see you two sometime.”

Ymir just nodded and dramatically blew some smoke into the air above her head.

Armin got back on his usual path, feeling more relaxed after the brief smoke. He tried to avoid cigarettes, but sometimes he couldn’t resist. Luckily, they were very hard to come by--he wondered how Ymir had gotten her hands on some--which meant it almost impossible to become addicted unless one was exclusively trading away everything they had to acquire some. Honestly, no one could afford that unless they intent on dying in less than a year. 

But, the people who were still kicking were the ones who really wanted to remain that way.

_God, there’s almost kids of age who have lived their entire life in this kind of world._

While the dreams of life before still came every so often, they were maybe once every few months. He had had one last night, though. There had been two very clear dreams, one of when Mikasa had been in the hospital with pneumonia, and the other was even further back than that, the day Eren and Armin had thrown their wishes into the Grand Canyon. He wished he could tell 2010 Armin that though he had hit a two-year hiccup after the separation with Eren, the wish had mostly held true.

Maybe “friends” wasn’t the right word choice back then, but tiny Armin couldn’t have known. There were friends, but Armin had family. And after all the years since his grandfather died, someone had become _actual_ family. _Just a little over two years . . ._ It still surprised him, and it was the best kind of surprise.

A dog barked in the distance. Armin smiled to himself; it had been some time since he’d heard one of those. The people who lived and worked out of Sioux Falls were all not dog people, apparently. Of course, Armin was and he still didn’t have one, but Sioux Falls must have just been the place for people without them.

_Always been unfortunate._

Though, Jean had asked Armin to tell him the moment a golden retriever was spotted, as they were Jean’s personal favorites.

The dog barked again, a deep, powerful bark. But Armin knew it was a happy bark, he would always know. And now he desperately wanted to know what kind of giant dog was in his near future.

It came out of the fog, loping across the asphalt like an antelope. When it saw Armin it stopped and pricked its ears, nose wiggling as it sniffed the air. Its tail was still wagging.

 _A Great Dane!_ Armin thought with glee. It had been so long since he’d seen one of those. This particular one, a dark grey, was _huge_ and probably was a great companion to have against the undead.

Armin crouched down. “Hey there, guy.” He extended a hand, palm up.

The dog stared at him a little bit longer, curious, but still hesitant.

“Nikkou!” a voice called in the distance: the owner, most likely, still hidden by the fog.

Something about the voice sent tingles up Armin’s spine, both good and uncertain. 

“Nikkou, modotte ki nasai!” the voice called.

Armin’s brow furrowed. “What . . .?”

The dog, Nikkou, looked over its shoulder and its tail wagged harder.

Slowly, Armin got to his feet as another figure emerged from the fog. It was a woman, of Japanese descent, with her long, black hair braided over one shoulder. She mostly ignored Armin as she and Nikkou lovingly reunited. From where he stood, Armin could hear the woman speaking to the dog in more Japanese. He understood her well, but more than that . . .

The woman finally looked up from the dog, eyes falling on Armin. The playful smile on her face faded as the seconds went by, until she was staring in surprise and almost fear. She got to her feet, ignoring the lively nose jabs of Nikkou.

Without a doubt, in the growing light of sunrise, Armin knew who it was. And she knew him.

Another voice joined theirs, one a little breathless but excited. “I don’t think Nikkou understands that one yet!”

The woman said nothing, still staring at Armin. She made no indication she had even heard the other person.

The voice, Armin would know anywhere.

Eventually, the third figure joined them, morphing into a man with messy, but short, brown hair and wide green eyes. He came to a stop by the woman, doubled over to catch his breath, and then whipped back up. “What is it?” His sparkling eyes landed on Armin, and just like with the woman, the light left it as the realization set in. Then came the confusion. He looked away and then took a step back, as if he had almost lost his balance.

Carefully, the man ventured, “Armin?”

Armin swallowed. “Hey, Eren.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren and Mikasa are back in his life, and Armin struggles to navigate the trio's reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all those who have been waiting for so long, I don't deserve you. You are too good for this world. And I hope that it was worth the wait, to any degree. <3
> 
> (And oh god, if there are present-tense verbs in here I am so sorry. This is what I get for writing a present-tense story for weeks and then suddenly writing this past-tense one. I tried to read through a few times to catch them!)

September 15, 2031

It had been twelve years, almost to the day. No news, no sightings, no _whispers_ , and then suddenly they appeared, out of the fog, out of nowhere, like something out of a goddamned movie. Armin would rather he _was_ living in a movie, because at least then he was almost guaranteed a happy ending. With just Kirschtein Squad, he believed in one. But now, as terrible as it felt to think, Eren and Mikasa’s presence changed that belief. At least, it changed reality enough that he felt an ugly cloud of dread in his lungs every time he breathed.

He gazed at Eren without any particular expression on his face, and Eren looked back like his was made of stone. In Eren’s eyes, Armin tried to search for the old spark of determination and zeal he had seen in all of Armin’s years of knowing him. But now his green eyes were just cold, not even wary. This meeting so far hadn’t incited any feelings of flame, good or bad.

_Dull._

Armin wondered if his own eyes had lost their luster. He had little time for mirrors lately, even when they did cross his path. He didn’t even use them for shaving; Annie volunteered for that instead. So many mirrors he came across were broken anyway, like someone had hated their appearance so much they’d cracked it in enough ways that they would never have to be reminded, with their own eyes, what this world had done to them. 

Seeing what the world had done to Armin himself was nothing, not in comparison to seeing what it had done to Eren.

For years, Armin had desperately desired to see Eren and Mikasa again. Now that the time had come, though, he wanted them gone. They were alive, they had a dog, they seemed healthy. That was enough, wasn’t it?

He replayed their last moments together, Eren telling him to, “Fucking _go_!” and Mikasa gently telling Armin they would see each other again. Well, she was right; of course she was. And Armin had gotten out one final, solitary word: “Okay.”

Eren’s eyes finally moved, grazing over every part of Armin, starting from his feet and ending at his eyes. Finally, Armin saw a twinge of something--betrayal again, akin to the one he felt the last time they’d spoken. The thing that had ripped them apart, Armin’s insistence he would never become a merc, no longer existed. Despite his words, Armin had joined the military. And now Eren knew that for sure, knew that somehow, something had convinced Armin better than he had.

At the time, Armin had also been surprised that Jean had found a way to convince him where Eren hadn’t. Jean and Eren were similar in a lot of ways, but the parts that were different were more powerful and intense parts of who they were, especially when it came to their influence on Armin.

Being on his own for two years had helped, too. There was nothing like being alone to give yourself a lot of time to think about anything that could be thought of. And Armin had done way too much of it then.

Armin also knew that it had been a good thing, him separating from Mikasa and Eren, and in a lot of ways.

He wondered if they understood that, too. If either of them did, it would be Mikasa. She looked at Armin lovingly, warmly. And she moved when no one else did, until suddenly her arms were wrapped around Armin, her face buried in his shoulder. Slowly, Armin put his hands up, lightly touching her back. If he squeezed her, he feared he would never let go.

“Armin,” she breathed into his shoulder.

She hesitated for a moment, then gave him a little squeeze herself before stepping away. Armin’s fingers tried to follow, but he snatched them back before she could notice. The dog, Nikkou, barked and came to Mikasa’s side, nudging her owner’s hip with her nose before looking up at Armin with curious eyes. 

Armin stared back, and finally a tiny smile appeared on his face. He turned that smile to Mikasa, and said, “ _Ohayo_ , Mikasa.”

Mikasa moved some hair out of her face, and her hand remained hovering there by her ear.

Behind her, Eren’s voice cut through the air: “You’re a merc?”

Armin’s head jolted a little as he focused on Eren again. The betrayal was back, and Eren was frowning. Armin made a tiny swallow before he answered back evenly, “I am.” And he found it important to add, “Almost ten years.”

Realization entered Eren’s eyes, and for a moment he just looked hurt. But he hid it away, or his anger melted it away. His nose crinkled up and his eyes narrowed. “Ten years?” he asked with a scoff. “Didn’t take long for you to change your mind, did it?”

Mikasa looked a little disappointed by this fact as well, her forehead crinkling as she lowered her eyes to the pavement. Her voice was unusually quiet as she asked, “What changed it?”

_What did you find that we couldn’t give you?_ they seemed to be asking.

Armin looked away from both of them, to the carcass of an old, gutted car.

_“We’re soldiers by necessity.”_

Plants had replaced what used to be machine parts. They wrapped around the so-far-unwanted, metal frame, giving back the color and life the car had lost.

_“Cut the cancer out. Or else it’ll just keep growing . . .”_

In a couple of weeks, the plant would shrivel. The car would seem dead again until spring.

_“I don’t want to resign myself to anything . . . I want to hope. I want to believe that there’s something out there that’s good.”_

He smiled wryly.

_You called me a coward, Eren. It hurt, because it came from you. But it was the wrong way to go about it. I was fine with being a coward. Hell, I still would be if I didn’t have so many people depending on me now. You were right, though. I was a coward for those two years I was on my own. And you were also right when you said no one would listen to me, because I was . . . what did you say . . ._ He smirked. _A nineteen-year-old punk. I was, wasn’t I? We all were._

Armin sighed and then looked back at Eren. _It wasn’t just Jean, it was him and the loneliness and the place I was at. The time wasn’t right when I was with you, Eren. I was still too young to really understand this world. I thought I would have to give up all my hope to become a merc, but I didn’t have to. I realized that later._

_And those words . . . Jean said them differently than you, insomuch that my mind wouldn’t try to find a way around them._

_”Being a merc . . . going out there and killing zombies . . . I’m not saying it’s a good thing. Just . . .”_

Finally, Armin said, “We’re soldiers by necessity.”

Mikasa looked up. “Armin,” she said firmly, “you told me you didn’t want to spend the rest of your life killing.”

“I meant it,” Armin said softly, his face scrunching up. He remembered her asking if she could change his mind. At the time, he’d said no. Why would someone want to change their mind about such a thing?

_I didn’t think I could be a good person, couldn’t think of myself as one if I dedicated my life to killing, even if they were zombies._

_But being a good person is so much more complicated than I’d thought it was, or at least . . . more complicated than it used to be. Before all of this._

_You’re a fool if you don’t think the definition can change, that the lines can get a little blurry, even when something like this happens. That was me, before. An optimistic fool clinging to the hope that I don’t have to change at all to be able to survive and do good in this world. But changing doesn’t mean sacrificing who I am at my core._

_I should tell them this, but . . ._ But he couldn’t, not right then. He needed time to process what was happening.

Eren still hadn’t said anything more, but he looked more thoughtful--or less angry, at least--than he had before Armin’s answers.

It lightened some more, though the fog remained. Armin’s shift was starting soon. If he didn’t hurry, he’d be late and incur a penalty he really couldn’t afford.

“Hey! Armin!”

Armin let out a small, but shocked breath. He looked over his shoulder, at the blonde figure emerging from the fog. She was out for her shift early, by nearly three hours, something she had never done before. And now here she was, jogging up to Armin, ready to go out on the wall and watch the foggy landscape with him.

Despite his fear at the meeting between Annie and his past, he smiled and extended a hand to her, which she took as soon as she was able to. He leaned down and kissed her, then smiled against her lips.

“That room was fucking boring by myself. I couldn’t take it anymore,” Annie said. “So I decided I’d rather be bored with you.”

“I’m honored,” Armin murmured.

Annie smiled a little then leaned a bit to see Mikasa and Eren. She seemed mostly disinterested in their presence, so they got no more than a glance from her. “Who’re your new friends?” she asked Armin.

Armin’s smile faded. “They’re . . . They’re old friends.”

She searched his eyes, and then he could see the realization. All the subtle amusement died from her face and this time she gave Mikasa and Eren a good, hard look. Mostly, she looked at Eren. It must have been so strange for her, surreal even, to see the people she had heard so much about, that both she and Armin had believed they’d never see--again, in Armin’s case. And yet, here they were.

Annie, face and voice devoid of emotion, introduced herself to the others: “I’m Annie.” And then, “You must be Mikasa,” she said as she looked at her. Right after, her eyes swiveled to Eren, and they remained there a moment before she said, “And you must be Eren.”

Eren glanced at Annie and Armin’s connected hands. He nodded once.

“What brings you to Sioux Falls?” Annie asked, the only one who seemed able to start an actual conversation.

Mikasa answered: “We were requested for a new mission they’re launching soon. And we aren’t the only mercs they want, or so we’ve been told.” She backed up a few steps to be closer to Eren, and then after a moment, he took a few steps forward to be beside her. The dog followed Mikasa, tail no longer wagging, perhaps sensing the tension in the air.

“Sounds big,” Annie said, in the disinterested tone she had become so expert at. Of course, Armin knew otherwise. By now, he could tell the difference between genuine disinterest and feigned. Right now she was feigning, and he knew a lot of it had to do with Eren and Mikasa’s presence. They were strangers, and yet they weren’t. How was someone supposed to approach that?

“Pays big,” Eren said this time. “It’s supposed to be a big win for us, if we pull it off. And we always do.”

He said it like a challenge: _“Can you say the same? Or are you only a half-assed merc?_

Annie gave a scoff uncharacteristic of her. “Any merc who’s been doing this six years or longer always does. It’s like doing your fucking laundry, by now.”

Eren eyes glimmered in slight interest. Meanwhile, Armin was praying Eren and Annie weren’t about to get into a dick-measuring contest. He just wanted everything to go as smoothly as possible considering the circumstances.

“Are you in town for long?” Mikasa asked, her question directed to Armin.

He had to find his voice again. “Yeah, we took an in-town mission. Been going out a lot this year.”

Annie said, “Your new mission sounds like the most exciting thing that’s happened since we found that USB in Utah.”

Eren’s eyes grew round and when he spoke there was finally no anger. “That was you?”

“Kirschtein Squad,” Annie confirmed. She looked away from Eren, still seemingly bored, and asked Armin, “Shouldn’t you be starting your shift?”

Armin nodded once, and then a few more times with more insistence. “Yeah, yeah, I’m probably late as it is.”

Annie touched his arm and smiled, then turned to the others. “Come to the bar later and meet the others.” She glanced back at Armin, and then started off towards the wall. Armin watched her until the fog swallowed her up.

Silence overtook them again, but this time Armin’s mind was blank. He had no idea what to think or say or do. If he was a stronger man he would have followed right after Annie, but Eren’s green eyes and Mikasa’s warm smile kept him rooted to the spot. How he had ever managed to leave them before when they exerted so much power over him, he’d never know.

Luckily, Mikasa broke the silence before it went on too long. “Are you happy, Armin?”

It was an odd question to ask in the world they lived. You never heard it anymore.

The corner of Armin’s mouth lifted a little, and he said, “I am.”

“Who is she?” Mikasa further asked.

The other corner of his mouth lifted, and the corners of his eyes crinkled up. “My wife.” He breathed in. “I should go. We have watch duty.” He let his eyes divert to Eren.

_Have you found someone else to love, Eren?_

Eren’s eyes betrayed nothing anymore, though, having returned to their stony nature. “We have to check-in with the armory.” He started walking, getting closer to Armin as he did. He stopped when he got close, though he didn’t look at Armin. His hands moved to his jacket pockets, and then he started off again. “Nikkou!” he called, and the dog jumped into action, running after him, and then ahead of him into the fog.

Mikasa came to Armin and put her hand on his arm. “We’ll see you at the bar later, if that’s okay?”

Armin let out a nervous breath. “Of course it’s okay.”

She held up a finger and then delved into a pocket on the inside of her bulky jacket. She pulled out something worn and red, and then let it unfold until the frayed ends were nearly touching the ground: the scarf Eren had given her when they were young. 

Without thinking, Armin reached out a hand and let his fingers gently touch it. Shivers traveled up and down his arms and legs, and tickled at the back of his neck.

“Take it,” she said.

Armin retracted his hand and flinched back. “What--? No.”

Mikasa’s eyes hardened. “Take it,” she said more firmly this time.

Carefully, Armin reached out again. His fingers curled around the scarf, though they didn’t grip hard enough to hold it. He glanced at her, and when the fierceness in her eyes prompted him again, he finally took a hold of the scarf. As soon as he did, she released it and then was gone after Eren.

Armin was left alone in the thinning fog. He looked to the east, to the ball of light that was becoming more pronounced than it had been since the fog set in. He gently wrapped the scarf around his neck and finally moved.

Annie was already atop the wall, looking out at a landscape they could finally see for the most part. She glanced over her shoulder when he joined her, to see who it was, but said nothing. Armin sat on the wall and just stared at her, admiring all of her features: the focus in her eyes, the eyelash that had come loose and was resting on her pink cheeks. He reached up a finger to brush it away.

“What?” she asked when he smiled. When he said nothing, just smiled more, she finally looked at him. She was trying _so_ hard not to smile herself, and it was silly, her muscles twitching to keep it that way.

“Thank you,” is all Armin said, and then he stood up and put one leg up on the part of the wall he’d been sitting on.

Eren’s green eyes glinted in Armin’s mind. The betrayal had been so palpable and Armin felt dirty, his skin sticky with anxiety and regret. But he had made the right move, not vomiting all his feelings right there on that street. Now that he knew he would face those eyes again, he had time to truly prepare himself, to say everything properly.

Annie’s fingers came up and tickled at his elbow for a minute. “I’ll take your shift if you want me to,” she offered.

“Are you okay?” Armin instead asked.

Annie’s eyes lowered as she thought about it, and then they returned to the landscape. “I’m okay if you’re okay.”

“I’m . . .” _Both okay and not._ “I don’t know.”

She looked up at him; the strength of her eyes had always been stabilizing for Armin, and they were now, more than ever. She said, “You need to talk to him. And . . .” Her face crinkled a little, but her voice was steady. “I trust you.” She ran her fingers over his arm again, longer this time. “You need to do what you need to do.” 

She tried to look away quickly, but Armin put his hand up to hold her cheek, catching partway. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes. Armin wanted to stay that way forever; he would have been content. But eventually, Annie took his hand and moved it away, though she still held it down by her hip.

“Okay,” he promised her.

Armin sighed again and looked at the sunlit landscape. Gently, he breathed out, “Fuck.”

\--

They met up with the rest of Kirschtein Squad in the early afternoon. Berthold and Reiner were only there a moment, as they had gotten an early start and finished cleaning their weapons soon after the others arrived. That left Marco, Jean, Annie, and Armin. Marco and Jean did most of the talking--inconsequential things. 

The silence from Annie was almost unbearable for Armin. Even after all the years they’d each known each other, Annie still remained mostly quiet in conversations, so her being quiet now was nothing new. Marco and Jean thought nothing of it, they still didn’t know. But Annie knew, which made her silence now all the more noticeable, and heavy even. Armin wished she would just join in Marco and Jean’s banter, even if she chuckled as she sometimes let herself do when Jean made a joke--a rare thing indeed.

Annie finished up quicker than usual and put a hand on Armin’s arm, leaning down to give him a kiss on the temple. “I’ll see you later tonight.”

He smiled and held her hand as long as he could, until she was out of reach and his fingers slipped from hers.

“Something up?” Marco asked, brow crinkled in concern.

When Armin took a minute to answer, Jean looked up from his gun, eyes serious. “Well? Spill it.”

“Eren and Mikasa are in town,” Armin said quietly.

Marco’s eyebrows rose, while Jean’s expression remained the same. “Aren’t they outside their area?” he asked in a steady voice.

“Not as if we’ve never been outside our region,” Armin pointed out. “They were summoned for a special mission, they said.”

“You _talked_ then?” Jean further dug.

Armin nodded, once, sharply.

A sharp click interrupted the conversation and Armin and Jean looked at Marco, who just finished cleaning and reassembling his rifle with fortuitous timing. “I’m going to go see if I can find where Berthold and Reiner went off to. I’ll see you two at the bar tonight.” He gave Jean a quick peck and then was also gone, just leaving Jean and Armin.

Jean’s gaze returned to Armin, heavy, a little angry even. “So how’d that go?”

“We didn’t say much,” Armin murmured, talking as he continued cleaning his gun. “Annie was there, too.”

“Shit,” Jean said.

“To answer your question, it went better than I expected, I suppose,” Armin said. “But I know that’s not all. It couldn’t be. There’s too much history. And now that we’ve seen each other, now that we know we’re all alive . . .”

It was like some deep-rooted instinct, that Armin will always return to Eren, that he would always be attracted to him. They may have been separated for more than a decade, but they came back to each other, like they were bound to each other by fate. If there was anything beyond the physical realm that he could see and interact with with his own eyes and body, something supernatural or spiritual, then it was that he and Eren were tied together in a way no earthly means could snap.

He had been so determined to never see Eren again, but all that was gone, almost as if it never existed. Whatever will he had to put the past behind him had been lost. Eren was there, and Armin needed to see him, to speak with him, even if it ended badly.

No matter how it ended, Annie was going to be hurt. Maybe she already was.

“Annie invited them to the bar tonight,” Armin said, as Jean was taking a drink of water.

Jean paused mid-drink and gave him an incredulous look. “Annie did?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to,” Armin said. “I could barely even speak. The thought didn’t even cross my mind.”

Jean took a nasty swig of water, like it was alcohol, and then offered it to Armin. “Are they going to come?” When Armin didn’t take the flask, Jean took it back and finished it off.

Armin began putting his gun back together. “I think so. Mikasa said they’d be there. She might have to . . . encourage Eren to go . . .” His voice faded out and he stared at the barrel of the gun in his hand, though his mind was on something worlds away--or, before this morning he’d thought it was. But they were right back in the same world. He’d say sister worlds then instead, but something told him they were about to be thrust even closer together.

“It’s gonna be weird as hell to see those two,” Jean said. “Like . . . to me they’re practically not real. Mythical legends or abstract concepts I’d never really come across. And I’m going to know so much about them, like we’re longtime friends. But they’ll have no idea who I am, I’ll just be some dickwad.”

With a cringe and pained smiled, Armin continued his task. “If Eren finds out you were the one who convinced me to become a mercenary, he might hate you. He may even want to kill you.”

“Ahh.” Jane made a noise of terrified discomfort. “Well, at least I’ll be prepared for it.”

“Maybe,” Armin said with a little smile. He looked over at Jean’s unfinished weapon. “Need a hand?”

Jean put his hands in the air. “You seem calmer about this than I am.”

It just hadn’t really sunk in yet. That would only happen when he had a real conversation with Eren and Mikasa. He had little hope for that happening at the bar with the rest of Kirschtein Squad listening in, _joining_ in. 

Annie’s words continued to echo in his head: _“I trust you. You need to do what you need to do.”_ She was going to get hurt and she knew it; those words assured him of that. He knew what she meant by those words, and in all honesty it scared him a little. It made him wonder: should he do it because of her words though the both of them knew it would hurt her, or should he just be grateful for her words but not use them to influence any of his actions? Annie had considered both of them when she’d spoken. Armin wanted to as well in how he proceeded, but he had no idea what was right.

_Is there even a right and wrong choice here?_

As if reading Armin’s mind, Jean said, “You talked to Annie yet? Like, really talked?”

“Briefly. She said I had to do what I needed to do.”

Jean stared at him.

As he leaned over to grab a piece of Jean’s gun, he said, “And that she trusts me.”

Something darkened in Jean’s eyes. “So what are you gonna do? Do you even know?”

Voice quiet again, Armin said, “I don’t know.”

Jean nodded sympathetically. “Well, wanna beer? I can go get one. Joey at the garage owes me one anyway.”

“We’re going to the bar later, Jean,” Armin said, collecting all the pieces onto the crate in front of him.

“No reason why you can’t have a beer now. If you don’t want it, I’ll just have it myself.”

Armin shook his head. “I should probably avoid alcohol for a while.” He got to work on Jean’s gun.

Jean winced. “Yeah, maybe. How you doing?”

“Haven’t we covered this?”

For a long time, Jean said nothing, just watched Armin clean his gun. He got tired of it, it seemed, and slapped his knees before getting to his feet. “I’m going to get that beer after all. Don’t have too much fun cleaning my gun.”

“Enjoy that beer for the both of us,” Armin said in place of a farewell. 

Jean slapped him on the back and was gone.

Cleaning the gun took no time at all, and after Armin put everything away he had no idea what to do. He needed something to keep his mind and hands busy. Now that Sioux Falls had become so crowded, he wanted nothing more than to take a job a few states away. He was torn on going to the bar, but meeting with Eren was unavoidable. Still, perhaps the mission office had some sort of menial labor that needed doing in town. And while he was at it, maybe he could see if there was a mission that could get the squad out of town tomorrow or the next day.

As he walked into the quiet office with the sound-absorbing floors and walls, the woman at the front desk looked up from the paperwork she was filling out and smiled at Armin with her yesterday’s-stained lips. “Hey there, Armin. What can I do you there for?”

He approached the desk and set his hands lightly on the edge of it. “Looking for some basic work to fill the next few hours.”

Without having to look the woman said, “We’re due for a delivery in twenty if you’re in the mood for some heavy lifting.”

“Sign me up,” Armin said with a little laugh.

But she waved a hand in the air. “Don’t got many volunteers today. You can just show up at the regular place and they’ll be glad to have you.” She picked up her pencil. “Anything else?”

“Uh, yeah. My squad is looking to ship out in the next couple of days, preferably tomorrow,” he said. “Got anything good?”

She set the pencil down and began flipping through the recent assignments. She pulled one out. “This one’s a few days old. Over in Wisconsin.” She waved it in the air. “Want me to put it in the system? You can ship out anytime within 72-hours.”

Armin nodded. “Let’s do that.”

“Let me go file it on your squad,” she said.

On the wall behind her rested a massive map of the US, and beside it a bulletin board with all the current squads and their missions. She wrote the mission number with marker under Kirschtein Squad.

“I just have to process this and call the security office.” She smiled. “As you know.”

She picked up the landline phone that connected to a few installations within Sioux Falls’ military zones. The security office was only a few hundred feet away, but it was off-limits to mercenaries unless they were getting their final security check upon resigning from service.

“Yes, I’d like to input a mission,” the woman said. “Clearance for Kirschtein, mission number 041A2--” She stopped abruptly and listened intently to someone on the other line. Then she was nodding her head. “Right, right. Well, I’ll put a hold on all three of them. Yes, thank you. Goodbye.” She gently placed the phone back on the receiver.

Armin’s brow furrowed. “Is there a problem?” He’d never been denied clearance.

The woman erased the mission number from the bulletin board and set the Wisconsin mission back to its previous home. “The high-ups already have a mission assigned to Kirschtein Squad, so you’re on hold for the time being.”

“They haven’t informed us,” he said.

“From what I know, it’s a joint mission of--” She paused, counting them in her head and on her fingers. “--four squads. But they’ve been weighing which squads to bring in.”

His mind briefly traveled to Eren and it was then he knew the two of them were stuck on the same mission. He wasn’t getting rid of Eren anytime soon.

Armin’s hands slipped off the desk and he rubbed his neck. “Understood. Thank you.”

The woman looked at him in concern. “For now, there’s always delivery boxes.”

There was, and it lasted him until the time they were all to meet at the bar. Annie was waiting for him just outside the depot and wordlessly they look each other’s hands and started to the bar. Armin began swinging their hands at one point and Annie stopped, swinging around in front of him, putting a hand on his chest and tugging on his collar. He leaned his head down and lightly kissed her. Annie smiled up at him and then swung around back to his side so they could keep walking.

“I went to the mission office today,” Armin preluded.

“We’re on hold.”

Armin blinked. “You were there, too?”

“I thought you might have stopped by there,” she said. “Lady at the desk told me. Good, old What’s-Her-Face.”

“It’s the same mission Eren and Mikasa were called here for,” Armin said. “They didn’t tell me that, but I know.”

Annie’s hand squeezed his. “Me, too. Must be important if they’re using four squads. I wonder who the other two squads are.”

“If they’re pulling from outside Sioux Falls, we might not know them.”

She gave him a sidelong, knowing look. “Or we might know them after all.”

The bar came into view and it was Armin’s turn to squeeze Annie’s hand. The bar was relatively empty when they came in, the biggest table belonging to the rest of their squad. When Reiner saw them, he lifted a hand in the air and gestured to two of the four chairs beside them at a table they’d pushed against their own. Armin and Annie sat on the side by Reiner and Berthold so Armin could swap looks with Jean if need be.

He knew he was being somewhat childish, but he was more nervous than he had been even for his first fight against a zombie. Bad memories of Levi Ackerman’s method pervaded Armin’s mind, and yet, their sting was a mere pinprick compared to the dread in his whole body at the knowledge he’d be facing Eren again.

Reiner ordered a round of beers for the table, providing necessary compensation from his own personal reserves, and insisted no one “pay him back” considering the nature of the occasion. Armin wrapped his hands around his own beer, wishing for the first time in a long while that it was cold. The others popped theirs open and Reiner had half of his down in one gulp.

The conversation was led mostly by Reiner, with contributions from Berthold and Marco, and occasionally a comment by Annie and Jean. Armin tuned all of it out and kept his gaze split between his beer and the door.

Some time passed, Armin didn’t know how much, but Jean said, “Do you think they’re really coming?”

As if on cue, the door opened and all of them looked over. Only one person came in, half of their quarry. And though Armin had been hoping Eren wouldn’t come, now that Eren had left Mikasa to go on her own, Armin was furious. Mikasa must have detected the anger in his face because she froze and didn’t approach at first. While Armin tried to gain control of his face, Annie waved Mikasa over. Mikasa sat by Jean.

“So, you’re the Mikasa I’ve heard so much about,” Reiner began.

“I couldn’t say,” Mikasa said back.

Reiner grinned. “And what about your friend? Eric?”

Armin closed his eyes a moment, wishing he could kick Reiner off his chair.

“Eren couldn’t make it,” Mikasa said in a measured tone.

Jean spoke before Reiner’s open mouth could continue. “Looks like Armin wasn’t exaggerating when he said how beautiful you are. And I’m sure, then, that your fighting skills must be just as good, too.”

Mikasa smiled politely and caught Armin’s eye. The look in her gaze warmed his chest.

“The blond idiot who spoke first is Reiner,” Jean began introductions, something Armin should have been doing. He was glad Jean was taking the lead, because like before, he couldn’t find it in himself to really say anything--yet. “The cute one beside him is Berthold. I think you know Annie. The blond next to her is Armin.” He put an arm around Marco. “And this gorgeous man is my husband, Marco.”

Marco, of course, blushed.

“Pleasure to meet you all,” Mikasa said with a bow of her head.

Jean scooted one of the two unclaimed beers from the middle of the table over to her. “For you, courtesy of the idiot.”

Finally, Armin spoke. “Looks like we’re on the same mission.”

Mikasa’s eyes swiveled back to him, unreadable this time. “We’d been informed that other squads would be joining us, but at the time they hadn’t made their decision. I’m . . . I’m glad.”

They all sat in awkward silence until Reiner said, “So, Mikasa--” It felt so strange to Armin to hear one of his friends say that. “--how is it working a merc down in the south?”

They all listened to Mikasa’s stories, and they were as varied and exciting as their own. Armin listened to them intently, craving every detail Mikasa could give. Every so often, he could see Annie glance at him from the corner of his eye, but she never said anything, just continued listening along with the others.

The stories went on for nearly an hour before Reiner began retelling some of Kirschtein Squad’s own. Mikasa listened with a smile that grew with every passing moment, and the others even got her laughing as they popped in to expound upon moments they had better knowledge of than Reiner. Each on their own, none of them were particularly good storytellers, but with their forces combined they were no better matched except by Mikasa herself.

At the end of it, Marco said, “For living the life of mercenaries, we’ve had some pretty good times, haven’t we?”

“With death along for the ride every time, just waiting to strike, it can’t get any better than that!” Reiner declared. “And the longer time goes on, the more likely it is the bastard’ll take us.”

“That’s not . . .” But Marco’s voice just dribbled out and he didn’t elaborate.

“Time’s coming for all of us,” Jean agreed, his face twisted in morose realization. “Back when this fucking thing started, I thought I’d die immediately, but I guess I’m good at running. We all are. Us lucky bastards.”

Berthold said, “Wonder when our luck will run out. When the clock’ll reach zero.”

“You fucks are being too morbid,” Annie complained.

“Morbid and realistic are the same thing nowadays,” Reiner insisted. “All our days are numbered, no matter how good we are.”

“Time’s not the enemy,” Armin said, the first time he’d spoken since mentioning that Kirschtein Squad would be on the same mission as Eren and Mikasa. He drew the undivided attention of everyone at the table. “It’s not just there to eternally hover over us like a threat.” He looked at Mikasa. “‘Time is a companion who goes with us on the journey and reminds us to cherish every moment. Because they’ll never come again.’”

Mikasa’s face went white. Just above a whisper, she said, “‘What we leave behind is not as important as how we lived.’” Her eyes were round, and it looked like any moment she would cry.

Armin held her gaze, feeling his chest tighten with emotion himself. She had remembered the quote, without any hesitation.

Another silence hung over the table, as everyone but Armin and Mikasa tried to figure out just what they were talking about, and why it had come so naturally, like this was how anyone ever held a conversation.

Jean was the first to figure it out. “You’re quoting something, aren’t you?”

Mikasa smiled.

“I’m right!” Jean declared. “What’s it from?”

Reiner held out a hand. “Hold up, we gotta guess. What does our pal Armin like?”

“ _Star Trek_ ,” Annie said.

“Goddammit, Annie, you can’t guess. It’s too obvious for you,” Reiner groaned. “Is she right?” he then asked Armin.

“ _Generations,_ ” Armin clarified.

But that meant nothing to Reiner, who glanced between Jean, Mikasa, Annie, and Armin, lips rounded in hesitation. “Is that--?”

Again, Jean had the answer. “That’s the seventh _Star Trek_ film. You spend as much time as I have with him, you get to know these things.”

“And we _haven’t_ spent much time with him?” Reiner complained.

“I did say _as_ much.” Jean finished off his flat beer and slapped it down on the table. “I’m tired as shit. Time to hit the sack.”

At his mention of sleep, both Marco and Berthold yawned--causing a chain reaction that affected the entire table.

“Probably gotta wake early to see what this whole new mission is all about,” Reiner said, pushing himself to his feet. Everyone else followed suit.

Annie took Armin’s hand and rested her head on his arm as they all walked out.

Before, Armin had expected he’d say little in the way of conversation with Mikasa, but not as little as he had actually said. He was disappointed in himself, and Mikasa surely had to be as well. She had accepted Annie’s invitation out of courtesy, perhaps, rather than true desire. But Armin knew she was probably hoping for _something_ \--definitely more than she got.

She lagged behind them all, hands in her pockets, silent.

Ahead of them all, Reiner was joking with Jean and Marco. There was a lot of pushing and laughing involved. Armin watched them with a smile.

Then Mikasa put a hand on Armin’s shoulder to stop him walking. Armin’s hand released Annie’s, and though she kept walking along with the others, she did glance back once. When they were out of earshot, the sound of their footsteps on the gravelly ground faded until it was perfectly silent around Armin and Mikasa.

“Armin,” Mikasa said, her voice warm and soft. And though no one was listening, she spoke to him in Japanese. “Eren does want to talk to you. He won’t admit it, but I know him. And . . . And I know you.”

With a sigh, Armin said, “It’s been twelve years, Mikasa. None of us know each other anymore.”

Her eyes hardened. “Maybe. But Eren won’t talk to you with your squad around.”

“Then set up a meeting,” Armin said, though he didn’t honestly mean it. He was counting on Eren being more of a coward than himself.

But Mikasa said, “I have.”

Trying to hide his uncertainty, but with a nervous swallow giving him away, Armin faintly asked, “When?”

“In about an hour, at the park by the motor pool,” she said. “I can tell him if you’ll be there or not.”

Clenching his jaw, Armin said, “Fine,” before his endless thoughts could convince him otherwise. He took Mikasa in his arms and held her tightly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be.” Her arms tightened around him. “Don’t be, please.”

They left each other at that, and Armin watched her disappear into the darkness before he jogged to catch up with Annie and the rest. In their room, with Annie shedding her shoes and clothes, leaving just her undergarments, Armin sat on the bed and told her about the meeting. She made a hum of acknowledgement but otherwise said nothing until she had combed through her hair with her fingers and washed her face with some water from a bottle.

Then she sat on the bed beside him. “You remember what I said, right?”

He nodded.

“Then there’s nothing more I need to say,” she said. She brushed some hair out of his face and behind his ear.

Armin leaned into her hand, his own lightly taking her wrist. He dragged his thumb up and down the soft part of it until the hairs on her arm stood up. Then he kissed her palm, followed with her lips.

“I didn’t marry you in ignorance,” she said against his lips.

“I know,” he breathed. “But I want to be strong, for you. I don’t want to be a coward, someone who can’t think because--”

“It doesn’t make you weak,” Annie said sharply. “And you’re not a coward to want to run from it. Besides, he’s not the only person that causes you to stop thinking rationally, is he?”

Memories of Great Falls came to mind, of Armin insisting they remain at the municipal building until Annie joined them at the vehicles. It was more than fortunate that she appeared soon after his irrational decision. Thinking back, Armin wasn’t entirely sure he would have left her there. He would have waited, at the expense of everyone’s lives.

“No, he’s not,” Armin said.

Annie smiled a little, though there was something sad in it that made Armin’s heart hurt. “I’m tired,” she said, moving to slide herself under the covers. “I’ll be asleep, so don’t wake me if you get back tonight.”

_If_ he got back tonight. He hated the implication, but more than that he hated the fact that there was too much truth in it. Annie wasn’t kidding herself about anything, so Armin shouldn’t either.

He waited there as Annie quickly fell asleep. His eyes took in her soft, sleeping features in the dim lamplight. When the time to go neared, he kissed her forehead, turned off the lamp, and headed out.

Out in the streets he passed a couple of patrols, who stopped to make sure he wasn’t a civilian, as they weren’t allowed out past curfew. Each time his ID was verified, he was allowed on his way. Near the motor pool, he diverted left instead of continuing straight, and walked until he was surrounded by the trees of the park. Standing by the playground, at the edge where the cement ended and the bark chips started, stood a dark figure, one Armin knew well and recognized instantly. He stopped before Eren realized he was there, to catch his breath and calm himself.

Then he purposefully stepped on a twig a few yards away to catch Eren’s attention.

The park was lit only by the stars, the moon absent, but even so, Armin could see the green of Eren’s eyes. It could have been his memory just filling it in, because that green was so potent, so mesmerizing.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Eren said, his voice scathing.

“I told Mikasa I would,” he said.

Almost to himself, Eren looked out over the park and said, “She’s out on night patrol right now.”

Armin took a few deep breaths to try and slow his heart.

“I had hoped you were dead,” Eren said, and the words, matched with his tone, had Armin wincing as if he’d been physically struck.

“Eren--” Armin stopped himself.

Eren looked sharply over at him, disarmed for just a moment. But he recovered quickly--an ability most mercs had mastered by now. There was too much weakness in emotional vulnerability, no matter how fleeting.

“I don’t know what Mikasa hoped to achieve with this,” Eren continued, as if Armin had never spoken his name. “There’s nothing to say.”

“You and I both know that’s not true,” Armin said firmly. He was starting to get angry again, like he had when Mikasa had first walked into the bar alone. Eren was pretending their meeting meant nothing to him, like he was only doing this for Mikasa’s sake and would rather Armin fell dead right that very moment.

_Like you would feel nothing at the sight of me dead, like I was just another zombie._

Eren narrowed his eyes, the green diminishing. “So you’re an expert on what I know, now, is that it? Whatever you think you know about me is gone now. You’re remembering someone else. I’m not your Eren.”

Armin frowned. “No matter how much time passes, how different you become from who you once were, you’ll always be my Eren. Nothing changes that. No matter how hard _you_ try.”

“The hell do you know, Armin? You’re just saying what you wish was true,” Eren accused.

“I know enough to tell when you’re lying,” Armin said. “You’re not just here for Mikasa’s sake, though without her pushing you, without her pushing me, neither of us would be here because we’re both cowards.”

Eren smirked. “Well, you think you being a coward is news to me?”

“To no one,” Armin agreed. “At least I can admit it. What’s the point of stubborn pride after so long? It doesn’t get you any more time on this world. It doesn’t take death’s eyes away from you for even a second.”

Eren said nothing. He only glared.

“What?” Armin spat. “Nothing to say? Will it hurt your fragile pride to admit you’re wrong?”

Now he scoffed. “Will it hurt _yours_ to admit the same?” he retorted. “Back then, you touted your higher principles to me in all your self-righteousness, like there was no other path, and that taking the one _I_ wanted would make you less of a man. And yet, here you stand, having taken that path after all, and dare to accuse _me_ of being wrong?”

Armin took a step back, eyes widening.

And Eren wasn’t finished. The words whipped from his tongue, landing in burning lashes on Armin’s skin. “It took you years to finally realize the truth about this world. You didn’t trust me enough to listen to me because you were _so goddamned certain_ that you were right. Because everything you do is the right choice, isn’t it?”

“I’ve--I’ve never claimed that,” Armin protested.

“You didn’t have to,” Eren said. “Goddammit, Armin, you’re still so fucking blind. You only see what you want to see.”

“And you don’t?”

“All right, _fine_ ,” Eren growled, “will it make you happy for me to fucking admit it? That sometimes I set my sights on one thing and only do the things it takes for me to reach it? But that doesn’t mean I see something and pretend it’s not there. I fight it. I get it out of the way so I can keep going towards what I want. I see things for what they are, and you see things as trivial if they don’t fit with your glorious worldview.”

Armin clenched his jaw.

Eren took a step towards him. His voice was low, laced with a dark tone: “What? Now _you’ve_ got nothing to say?”

“You’re right,” Armin said through his teeth. “But we’ve been apart a long time. I’ve gotten better.”

“And so have I. So, _like I said,_ ” Eren said, “I’m not your Eren, just like you’re not my Armin. We’re both remembering dead versions of ourselves--mostly dead, at least.”

_Your . . . Armin._

“It doesn’t change anything,” Armin murmured.

Eren made a face. “What do you mean?”

“It’s enough that you’re Eren,” he said. “The question is . . . is it enough for you that I’m Armin?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Eren said. “It’s too late. Mikasa and I are here to complete this mission and then we’re gone again. You’ll never see us again, and I can promise that.”

Armin’s forehead scrunched, troubled. “You want that so much you’re willing to promise on it?”

“You mean nothing to me,” Eren said. “You’re just an unwelcome problem, like the undead. I just can’t deal with you like I deal with them.”

Armin’s knees shook and he felt his chest hollow. His mind went dizzy and he fought to keep his balance, to not lose face in front of Eren. _I can’t let him affect me like this. And I can’t let him know. Dammit. After all this time . . ._ why?

“Why not?” Armin asked.

There again he got him: Eren stared at him in surprise. Then he asked in a disgusted tone, “Why not what?”

Armin forced his knees to fall in line as he now took a step towards Eren. “Why not deal with me like you deal with them? Huh? You could get away with it. Even if the military knew it was you, I doubt they’d do anything to punish you.” _You’d only have to worry about my squad, which I suppose is worse than the military. I’m not sure who would plan a more painful death for you: Jean or Annie._ He laughed mirthlessly at the thought.

“Step back,” Eren demanded. He could try with every last fiber of his being to sound calm, but Armin could hear it: the fear.

But Armin took another step, and perhaps from some instinct Eren pulled a dagger from the strap at his thigh.

“I told you to stay back,” Eren said.

“If you really want to kill me, Eren,” Armin said, “then now’s your chance. I’m not going to fight back. You can be rid of me for good.”

Closer: enough to take Eren’s wrist, the first time they’d touched in twelve years, and force the knife close to his stomach. His skin was hot, and despite the time that had passed, Armin remembered the heat and feel of it like it had merely been one day. He remembered Eren’s body moving against his, the ripple of his back muscles as Armin’s fingers both clawed and caressed them. The sweat on Eren’s hairline that transferred to Armin when they kissed, their foreheads pressing against one another. The warmth of Eren’s breath on his neck just before Eren took the pale skin between his teeth.

And most of all, afterwards, when they lay beside each other, Eren with his arms around Armin like he would never let go. Back then he was so determined to never let go.

“You won’t get this chance again, I promise you,” Armin murmured. “Eren.”

Eren’s body tensed. There was so much green.

“Eren,” Armin repeated. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Suddenly Eren jerked away, and Armin released his wrist. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” The knife remained in Eren’s hand, at his side, and the green still looked uncertain.

Armin glared at him. “Don’t come to me later, regretting you didn’t do it.”

_What the hell_ am _I doing?_

Eren’s fingers tightened on the knife and then he was striking, but Armin blocked him, twisted the knife out of his hand. Then he grabbed Eren by the collar and swung him over into a tree, holding him there. “You had your chance. I told you you wouldn’t get another one.”

“You _have_ changed,” Eren said with a scoff. “Almost makes me miss fucking you.”

Armin punched him, right in the jaw, and Eren fell to the ground.

“Maybe you’re right: everything of the Eren I knew is dead,” Armin said.

Eren got to his feet, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a dangerous smile on his face. “Wanna try that again?”

“You asking or telling?”

This time Eren threw a punch at him. Armin tried to dodge, but Eren’s knuckles still glanced his cheek and he fell into the tree. He just managed to move before Eren’s second throw collided with his head. As Annie had taught him, Armin grabbed a hold of Eren’s arm and then pivoted the man over his shoulder and into the ground.

Eren was slower getting up this time, but he did it without seeming too winded.

“I don’t have time for this,” Armin said. “I’m done.” He snatched the dagger from the ground and then approached Eren, who was watching him with careful eyes. “Here.” He forced the dagger into Eren’s hand, but his fingers lingered there.

Eren yanked him closer and then his lips were on Armin’s, rough, sloppy. The knife was forgotten and his hands took Armin’s head, entangling in his blond hair.

When somehow Armin found sense, he pushed away from Eren. After that, he was frozen, unsure what to do, unsure if he _could_ do anything more. He was caught up in the green of Eren’s eyes, and it was at that moment he knew he had lost all control: Eren was in control now, and Armin didn’t mind it.

No, he even _liked_ it.

Some seconds passed, and Armin remained standing there, staring. Carefully, Eren came closer again, his fingers grabbing a fistful of Armin’s shirt when he was near enough. Then he gently tugged. Armin moved forward willingly.

“Come back with me,” Eren said in a low voice.

_This one final night, and then we’ll be done for good._

_“I trust you. Do what you need to do.”_

He thought more resolutely, _Then we’ll be done for good._

To Eren, he said, “Take me there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (To any of you disappointed I didn't write any smut, just know that it's for the best because I am the W O R S T at writing it. I've spared you all, trust me.)
> 
> Thank you for reading xoxoxoxoxo


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